In the month of December 1542, shortly after the rout of Solway, in which the English made prisoners the flower of the Scottish nobility, the same messenger brought to Henry VIII. the tidings that the grief and shame of this defeat had broken the heart of king James V., and that his queen had brought into the world a daughter, who had received the name of Mary, and was now queen of Scotland. Without stopping to deplore the melancholy fate of a nephew whom he had himself brought to destruction, Henry instantly formed the project of uniting the whole island under one crown, by the marriage of this infant sovereign with the prince his son. All the Scottish prisoners of rank then in London were immediately offered the liberty of returning to their own country on the condition, to which they acceded with apparent alacrity, of promoting this union with all their interest; and so confident was the English monarch in the success of his measures, that previously to their departure, several of them were carried to the palace of Enfield, where young Edward then resided, that they might tender homage to the future husband of their queen.

The regency of Scotland at this critical juncture was claimed by the earl of Arran, who was generally regarded as next heir to the crown, though his legitimacy had been disputed; and to this nobleman,—but whether for himself or his son seems doubtful,—Henry, as a further means of securing the important object which he had at heart, offered the hand of his daughter Elizabeth.

The conduct of Elizabeth during the late alarming crisis, earned for her from Mary, during the first days of her reign, some demonstration of sisterly affection. She caused her to bear her company in her public entry into London; kindly detained her for a time near her own person; and seemed to have consigned for ever to an equitable oblivion all the mortifications and heartburnings of which the child of Anne Boleyn had been the innocent occasion to her in times past, and under circumstances which could never more return.

In the splendid procession which attended her majesty from the Tower to Whitehall previously to her coronation on October 1st 1553, the royal chariot, sumptuously covered with cloth of tissue and drawn by six horses with trappings of the same material, was immediately followed by another, likewise drawn by six horses and covered with cloth of silver, in which sat the princess Elizabeth and the lady Anne of Cleves, who took place in this ceremony as the adopted sister of Henry VIII.

But notwithstanding these fair appearances, the rancorous feelings of Mary's heart with respect to her sister were only repressed or disguised, not eradicated; and it was not long before a new subject of jealousy caused them to revive in all their pristine energy.

Amongst the state prisoners committed to the Tower by Henry VIII., whose liberation his executors had resisted during the whole reign of Edward, but whom it was Mary's first act of royalty to release and reinstate in their offices or honors, was Edward Courtney, son of the unfortunate marquis of Exeter.

There was no part of the regal office the exercise of which appeared so likely to expose Elizabeth to invidious reflections, as that which comprehended the management of ecclesiastical affairs. Few divines, though protestant, could behold without a certain feeling of mingled jealousy and disdain, a female placed at the head of the religion of the country, and by the whole papal party such a supremacy was regarded perhaps as the most horrible, certainly as the most preposterous, of all the prodigies which heresy had yet brought forth. “I have seen the head of the English church dancing!” exclaimed, it is said, with a sarcastic air, an ambassador from one of the catholic courts of Europe.

A more striking incongruity indeed could scarcely be imagined, than between the winning manners and sprightly disposition of this youthful princess, as they displayed themselves amid the festivities of her court and the homage of her suitors, and the grave and awful character of Governess of the church, with which she had been solemnly invested.

In virtue of this office, it was the right and duty of the queen to choose a religion for the country; to ordain its rites and ceremonies, discipline, and form of church government; and to fix the rank, offices and emoluments of its ministers. She was also to exercise this power entirely at her own discretion, free from the control of parliament or the interference of the clerical body, and assisted only by such commissioners, lay or ecclesiastical, as it should please herself to appoint.

Notwithstanding the late fortunate change in her situation, Elizabeth must have entertained an anxious sense of its remaining difficulties, if not dangers; and the prudent circumspection of her character again, as in the latter years of her brother, dictated the expediency of shrouding herself in all the obscurity compatible with her rank and expectations. To literature, the never failing resource of its votaries, she turned again for solace and occupation; and claiming the assistance which Ascham was proud and happy to afford her, she resumed the diligent perusal of the Greek and Latin classics.

The concerns of the college of which sir Thomas Pope was the founder likewise engaged a portion of her thoughts; and this gentleman, in a letter to a friend, mentions that the lady Elizabeth, whom he served, and who was “not only gracious but right learned,” often asked him of the course which he had devised for his scholars.

Classical literature was now daily declining from the eminence on which the two preceding sovereigns had labored to place it. The destruction of monastic institutions, and the dispersion of libraries, with the impoverishment of public schools and colleges through the rapacity of Edward's courtiers, had inflicted far deeper injury on the cause of learning than the studious example of the young monarch and his chosen companions was able to compensate.

The eighteenth of January 1561 ought to be celebrated as the birthday of the English drama; for it was on this day that Thomas Sackville caused to be represented at Whitehall, for the entertainment of Elizabeth and her court, the tragedy of Ferrex and Porrex, otherwise called Gorboduc, the joint production of himself and Thomas Norton. From the unrivalled force of imagination, the vigor and purity of diction, and the intimate knowledge and tasteful adaptation of the beauties of the Latin poets displayed in the contributions of Sackville to the Mirror of Magistrates, a lettered audience would conceive high expectations from his attempt in a new walk of poetry; but in the then barbarous state of our Theatre, such a performance as Gorboduc must have been hailed as not only a novelty but a wonder. It was the first piece composed in English on the ancient tragic model, with a regular division into five acts, closed by lyric choruses.

It offered the first example of a story from British history, or what passed for history, completely dramatized and represented with an attempt at theatrical illusion; for the earlier pieces published under the title of tragedies were either ballads or monologues, which might indeed be sung or recited, but were incapable of being acted. The plot of the play was fraught with those circumstances of the deepest horror by which the dormant sensibilities of an inexperienced audience require and delight to be awakened.

Nothing could be more opposite to the strict principles of hereditary succession than the ideas entertained, even by the first lawyers of the time of Henry VIII., concerning the manner in which a title to the crown was to be established and recognised.

When Rich, the king's solicitor, was sent by his master to argue with sir Thomas More on the lawfulness of acknowledging the royal supremacy; he inquired in the course of his argument, whether sir Thomas would not own for king any person whatever,—himself for example,—who should have been declared so by parliament? He answered, that he would. Rich then demanded, why he refused to acknowledge a head of the church so appointed? “Because,” replied More, “a parliament can make a king and depose him, and that every parliament-man may give his consent thereunto, but a subject cannot be bound so in case of supremacy.” Bold as such doctrine respecting the power of parliaments would now be thought, it could not well be controverted at a time when examples were still recent of kings of the line of York or Lancaster alternately elevated or degraded by a vote of the two houses, and when the father of the reigning sovereign had occupied the throne in virtue of such a nomination more than by right of birth.

But the obvious inconveniences and dangers attending the exercise of this power of choice, had induced the parliaments of Henry VIII. to join with him in various acts for the regulation of the succession.

Never perhaps was the accession of any prince the subject of such keen and lively interest to a whole people as that of Elizabeth.

Both in the religious establishments and political relations of the country, the most important changes were anticipated; changes in which the humblest individual found himself concerned, and to which a vast majority of the nation looked forward with hope and joy.

With the courtiers and great nobles, whose mutability of faith had so happily corresponded with every ecclesiastical vicissitude of the last three reigns, political and personal considerations may well be supposed to have held the first place; and though the old religion might still be endeared to them by many cherished associations and by early prejudice, there were few among them who did not regard the liberation of the country from Spanish influence as ample compensation for the probable restoration of the religious establishment of Henry or of Edward. Besides, there was scarcely an individual belonging to these classes who had not in some manner partaken of the plunder of the church, and whom the avowed principles of Mary had not disquieted with apprehensions that some plan of compulsory restitution would sooner or later be attempted by an union of royal and papal authority.

With the middling and lower classes religious views and feelings were predominant. The doctrines of the new and better system of faith and worship had now become more precious and important than ever in the eyes of its adherents from the hardships which many of them had encountered for its sake, and from the interest which each disciple vindicated to himself in the glory and merit of the holy martyrs whose triumphant exit they had witnessed.

The disposition of Elizabeth was originally deficient in benevolence and sympathy, and prone to suspicion, pride and anger; and we observe with pain in the progress of her history, how much the influences to which her high station and the peculiar circumstances of her reign inevitably exposed her, tended in various modes to exasperate these radical evils of her nature.

The extravagant flattery administered to her daily and hourly, was of most pernicious effect; it not only fostered in her an absurd excess of personal vanity, but, what was worse, by filling her with exaggerated notions both of her own wisdom and of her sovereign power and prerogative, it contributed to render her rule more stern and despotic, and her mind on many points incapable of sober counsel. This effect was remarked by one of her clergy, who, in a sermon preached in her presence, had the boldness to tell her, that she who had been meek as lamb was become an untameable heifer; for which reproof he was in his turn reprenended by her majesty on his quitting the pulpit, as “an over confident man who dishonored his sovereign.”

The decay of her beauty was an unwelcome truth which all the artifices of adulation were unable to hide from her secret consciousness; since she could never behold her image in a mirror, during the latter years of her life, without transports of impotent anger; and this circumstance contributed not a little to sour her temper, while it rendered the young and lovely the chosen objects of her malignity.

The death of Leicester forms an important æra in the history of the court of Elizabeth, and also in that of her private life and more intimate feelings. The powerful faction of which the favorite had been the head, acknowledged a new leader in the earl of Essex, whom his step-father had brought forward at court as a counterpoise to the influence of Raleigh, and who now stood second to none in the good graces of her majesty. But Essex, however gifted with noble and brilliant qualities totally deficient in Leicester, was on the other hand confessedly inferior to him in several other endowments still more essential to the leader of a court party. Though not void of art, he was by no means master of the profound dissimulation, the exquisite address, and especially the wary coolness by which his predecessor well knew how to accomplish his ends in despite of all opposition. His character was impetuous, his natural disposition frank; and experience had not yet taught him to distrust either himself or others.

With the friendships, Essex received as an inheritance the enmities also of Leicester, and no one at court could have entertained the least doubt whom he regarded as his principal opponent; but it would have been deemed too high a pitch of presumption in so young a man and so recent a favorite as Essex, to place himself in immediate and open hostility to the long established and far extending influence of Burleigh.

From this period nearly of the reign of Elizabeth, her court exhibited a scene of perpetual contest between the fection of the earl of Essex and that of lord Burleigh; or rather of Robert Cecil; and so widely did the effects of this intestine division extend, that there was perhaps scarcely a single court-attendant or public functionary whose interests did not become in some mode or other involved in the debate. Yet the quarrel itself may justly be regarded as base and contemptible: no public principle was here at stake; whether religious, as in the struggles between papists and protestants which often rent the cabinet of Henry VIII.; or civil, as in those of whigs and tories by which the administrations of later times have been divided and overthrown. It was simply and without disguise a strife between individuals, for the exclusive possession of that political power and court influence of which each might without disturbance have enjoyed a share capable of contenting an ordinary ambition.

In religion there was apparently no shade of difference between the hostile leaders; neither of them had studied with so little diligence the inclinations of the queen as to persist at this time in the patronage of the puritans, though the early impressions, certainly of Essex and probably of sir Robert Cecil also, must have been considerably in favor of this persercuted sect.

About the year 1776, the prisons in America were in a situation very similar to that of the generality of English prisons at the present moment. There was no such thing as classification, employment, instruction or cleanliness: arbitrary rule and brutality, fetters put on, or withdrawn according to wanton caprice, oaths and invectives indiscriminately dealt out, were the only methods of discipline; but these severities “were in some sense amply compensated to the prisoners, by the permission of debauchery and excess; by the liquors they were allowed to purchase, and the indolence in which they were indulged.” Filth, drunkenness, irregularity, and promiscuous intercourse, produced the same effects in American, as they now produce in English jails. Disease was very prevalent; crime increased, and “scarcely one was dismissed from prison with the same stock of morality he carried in with him.”

A few benevolent persons in Pennsylvania, deeply deploring these evils, formed themselves into “a society for alleviating the miseries of public prisons.” After fourteen years of labour and disappointment, they succeeded in obtaining liberty from the legislature to introduce by way of experiment, an arrangement, in which the classification of crime, and the employment of the criminal, were the most important features.

The three commissioners named by Elizabeth to sit as judges in the great cause between Mary and her subjects, of which she had been named the umpire, were the duke of Norfolk, the earl of Sussex, and sir Ralph Sadler, a very able negotiator and man of business. On the part of the Scottish nation, the regent Murray, fearing to trust the cause in other hands, appeared in person, attended by several men of talent and consequence. The situation of Mary herself was not more critical or more unprecedented, and scarcely more humiliating, than that in which Murray was placed by her appeal to Elizabeth. Acting on behalf of the infant king his nephew, he saw himself called upon to submit to the tribunal of a foreign sovereign such proofs of the atrocious guilt of the queen his sister, as should justify in the eyes of this sovereign, and in those of Europe, the degradation of Mary from the exalted station which she was born to fill, her imprisonment, her violent expulsion from the kingdom, and her future banishment or captivity for life:—an attempt in which, though successful, there was both disgrace to himself and detriment to the honor and independence of his country; and from which, if unsuccessful, he could contemplate nothing but certain ruin. Struck with all the evils of this dilemma; with the danger of provoking beyond forgiveness his own queen, whose restoration he still regarded as no improbable event, and with the imprudence of relying implicitly on the dubious protection of Elizabeth, Murray long hesitated to bring forward the only charge dreaded by the illustrious prisoner,—that of having conspired with Bothwell the murder of her husband.

It is now proper to return to circumstances more closely connected with the situation of Elizabeth at this eventful period of her life.

Two or three weeks before her arrival in the Tower, Wyat with some of his principal adherents had been carried thither. Towards these unhappy persons, none of those decencies of behaviour were observed which the sex and rank of Elizabeth had commanded from the ministers of her sister's severity; and Holinshed's circumstantial narrative of the circumstances attending their committal, may be cited as an instructive example of the fierce and brutal manners of the age.

“Sir Philip Denny received them at the bulwark, and as Wyat passed by, he said, ‘Go, traitor, there was never such a traitor in England.’ To whom sir Thomas Wyat turned and said, ‘I am no traitor; I would thou shouldest well know that thou art more traitor than I; it is not the point of an honest man to call me so.’ And so went forth. When he came to the Tower gate, sir Thomas Bridges lieutenant took in through the wicket first Mantell, and said; ‘Ah thou traitor! what hast thou and thy company wrought?’ But he, holding down his head, said nothing. Then came Thomas Knevet, whom master Chamberlain, gentleman-porter of the Tower, took in. Then came Alexander Bret, (captain of the white coats,) whom sir Thomas Pope took by the bosom, saying, ‘O traitor! how couldst thou find in thy heart to work such a villainy as to take wages, and being trusted over a band of men, to fall to her enemies, returning against her in battle?’ Bret answered, ‘Yea, I have offended in that case.’

About the middle of the year 1576, Walsingham in a letter to sir Henry Sidney thus writes: “Here at home we live in security as we were wont, grounding our quietness upon other harms.” The harms here alluded to,—the religious wars of France, and the revolt of the Dutch provinces from Spain,—had proved indeed, in more ways than one, the safeguard of the peace of England. They furnished so much domestic occupation to the two catholic sovereigns of Europe, most formidable by their power, their bigotry, and their unprincipled ambition, as effectually to preclude them from uniting their forces to put in execution against Elizabeth the papal sentence of deprivation; and by the opportunity which they afforded her of causing incalculable mischiefs to these princes through the succours which she might afford to their rebellious subjects, they long enabled her to restrain both Philip and Charles within the bounds of respect and amity. But circumstances were now tending with increased velocity towards a rupture with Spain, clearly become inevitable; and in 1577 the queen of England saw herself compelled to take steps in the affairs of the Low Countries equally offensive to that power and to France.

The states of Holland, after the rejection of their sovereignty by Elizabeth, cast their eyes around in search of another protector; and Charles IX., suffering his ambition and his rivalry with Philip II. to overpower all the vehemence of his zeal for the catholic religion, showed himself eager to become their patron.

Having thus described two distinct and opposite modes of prison discipline, I would suggest to my reader, that a comparison of these is the most certain criterion of their respective merits.

That vice and misery are produced by the one, and prevented by the other, may be gathered from the following facts:–

On the 14th December, 1817, an account was taken at my request of the number of prisoners in the second station in Newgate, who had been there before. It appeared that out of two hundred and three, forty-seven of those convicted, besides seven of those acquitted, had within the two preceding years, been confined there. It is probable that many (passing under fictitious names, and anxious to appear as offenders for the first time, which might operate in mitigation of their sentence), were not recognized. Newgate, it is to be remembered, is but one prison among several; many who had never been there before, were known to have been in the other jails of the metropolis and county. Amongst the boys, of the ten first I examined, five confessed that they had previously been convicted of other crimes. Taking these circumstances into consideration, we may fairly presume that forty per cent, of those discharged from prison return there again, and this calculation is considerably lower than that made by all the jailers of London and its vicinity, whom I have consulted.

In the jails at Bury, Philadelphia, and Ghent, five per cent. is the average return.

This Jail is the best constructed, of any that I have seen in England, the regulations by which it is governed are exceedingly wise and humane; and it possesses the grand requisite of a Governor, who discharges his duty with equal zeal and fidelity.

The nature of the building will be easily understood. An external wall surrounds the whole: the Governor's house is in the center; from its windows every yard is visible, and it is hardly possible, that any breach of the rules can be practised without being observed, either by himself or some one of his family. He told me that the experience of twenty years as a jailer, had taught him that the main points for prison discipline, for the security, morals, and health of the prisoners, are:–

Classification–Employment–and Cleanliness.

Classification is carried to almost its greatest limit. There is a separate building and yard, for prisoners of the following descriptions:–

Males.

1. No. 1 and 2. Debtors.

2. 3. King's Evidence, when there are any; and occasionally other prisoners.

3. 4. Convicted of misdemeanors, and small offences.

4. 5. Transports, and convicted of atrocious felonies.

5. 6. Untried for atrocious offences.

6. 7. Untried for small offences.

Females.

1. 8. Debtors.

2. 9. For trial.

3. 10. Convicted of misdemeanors.

4. 11. Convicted of felonies.

There is a well merited discretion given to the Governor, to alter these rules, in the following manner:–a notorious thief, who has before been imprisoned, may be apprehended for a petty offence.

A fresh expedition against the Spaniards was in agitation from the beginning of this year, which occasioned many movements at court, and, as usual, disturbed the mind of the queen with various perplexities. Her captious favor towards Essex, and the arts employed by him to gain his will on every contested point, are well illustrated in the letters of Rowland White, to which we must again recur.

On February twenty-second he writes: “My lord of Essex kept his bed the most part of all yesterday; yet did one of his chamber tell me, he could not weep for it, for he knew his lord was not sick. There is not a day passes that the queen sends not often to see him, and himself every day goeth privately to her.” Two days after, he reports that “my lord of Essex comes out of his chamber in his gown and night-cap..… Full fourteen days his lordship kept in; her majesty, as I heard, resolved to break him of his will and to pull down his great heart, who found it a thing impossible, and says he holds it from the mother's side; but all is well again, and no doubt he will grow a mighty man in our state.”

The earl of Cumberland made “some doubt of his going to sea,” because lord Thomas Howard and Raleigh were to be joined with him in equal authority; the queen mentioned the subject to him, and on his repeating to herself his refusal, he was “well chidden.”

Whether or not it was with a view of impeding the marriage of the queen of Scots that Elizabeth had originally encouraged the renewal of the proposals of the archduke to herself, certain it is that the treaty was still carried on, and even with increased earnestness, long after this motive had ceased to operate.

It was subsequently to Mary's announcement of her approaching nuptials, that to the instances of the imperial ambassador Elizabeth had replied, that she desired to keep herself free till she had finally decided on the answer to be given to the king of France, who had also offered her his hand. After breaking off this negotiation with Charles IX., she declared to the same ambassador, that she would never engage to marry a person whom she had not seen;—an answer which seemed to hint to the archduke that a visit would be well received. It was accordingly reported with confidence that this prince would soon commence his journey to England; and Cecil himself ventured to write to a friend, that if he would accede to the national religion, and if his person proved acceptable to her majesty, “except God should please to continue his displeasure against us, we should see some success.” But he thought that the archduke would never explain himself on religion to any one except the queen, and not to her until he should see hopes of speeding.

Non fortia loquor, sed possibilia

If I have been so fortunate as to convince my readers, that crime and misery are the natural and necessary consequences of our present system of prison discipline. I must now endeavour to demonstrate, that these may be avoided. I do nothing, I freely admit, if I shew that these evils exist, without proving that they might have been prevented. I may be answered thus:–It is true, that our jails are nurseries, schools, and colleges of vice;–true, our prisoners are rendered miserable as well as guilty;– true, their health and morals are tainted; but guilt and wretchedness are the inseparable concomitants of confinement, and must ever be so.

To prove that the reverse of all this is true,–that instead of health being impaired, it may be improved; that instead of morals being corrupted, they may be reformed; that these objects, so desirable to the state, may be accomplished by methods humane to the criminal, by a system of classification, industry, and religious instruction, is the design of the Second Part of this Pamphlet; and, abstaining from abstract reasoning, I shall appeal to experience and example.

About four years ago, Mrs. Fry was induced to visit Newgate, by the representations of its state, made by some persons of the Society of Friends.

She found the female side in a situation, which no language can describe. Nearly three hundred women, sent there for every gradation of crime, some untried, and some under sentence of death, were crowded together in the two wards and two cells, which are now appropriated to the untried, and which are found quite inadequate to contain even this diminished number, with any tolerable convenience. Here they saw their friends, and kept their multitudes of children, and they had no other place for cooking, washing, eating, and sleeping.

They slept on the floor at times one hundred and twenty in one ward, without so much as a mat for bedding, and many of them were very nearly naked. She saw them openly drinking spirits, and her ears were offended by the most terrible imprecations. Every thing was filthy to excess, and the smell was quite disgusting. Every one, even the Governor, was reluctant to go amongst them. He persuaded her to leave her watch in the office, telling her that his presence would not prevent its being torn from her. She saw enough to convince her that every thing bad was going on.