OPENING THE PRISON DOORS.
By Editor
Few spectacles are sadder or furnish occasion for greater discouragement than the prostitution of fine abilities to serve an ignoble purpose; and we meet with such at every turn. Presidents and governors, judges and legislators, clergy and laity—men of high position and holding places of trust—are constantly proving unfaithful to those trusts; and when these men hold public positions the offense is all the greater, and the wound the deeper. The last one to put himself on record as an offender against the moral sentiment of the community is the present governor of New York—the Hon. Lucius Robinson; nor is it his first offense, but one of a series of which good men of both parties have grown so weary. And these are the facts:— A year ago the governor shocked the community by granting a pardon to John Cosgrove, Richard Eustace, and Thomas P. Doyle, after their conviction for repeated violations of the excise law. Their conviction cost months of work on the part of the Society for the Prevention of Crime, aided by an overworked district-attorney. But no: these men must be set free, and our readers will recall the indignant protest that went up from the public press, and they will recall the defense that the governor felt obliged to put forth over the signature of his son, and they will not have forgotten how specious and puerile that defense was; nor will they soon forget it. A few months since, one Jacob Berry was convicted of keeping a disorderly and indecent place of amusement. What the indecencies were, our modest types would refuse to tell. But we may say that orgies were nightly held in his “house”; that the worst form of vice known was perpetrated in this public place; that young men—and not from the lowest walks in life—were here trained in this school of debauchery, and that precisely the phases of lechery which Nero and his courtesans delighted in were flashed forth from the garish glare of gas-lights, not even being covered with the veil of obscurity. After—as Dr. Howard Crosby tells us—fifteen months of unceasing effort on the part of District-Attorney Bell, who conducted the prosecution with public spirit and professional skill, this wretch Berry was convicted in the Court of Sessions by a jury and sentenced to eight months’ imprisonment and to pay a fine of $150—the only fault being that the sentence was absurdly light in proportion to the real offense. Berry appealed his case to the Supreme Court. After careful consideration, the Court affirmed the proceedings of the Sessions. Berry’s counsel then carried his case to the Court of Appeals, which unanimously confirmed the verdict and ordered the sentence to be carried out. And now the governor acts his part: he puts away what the Court of Sessions did, and what the Supreme Court and our highest Appellate Court affirmed, and opening the prison doors, sets Berry free, remitting even the paltry fine of $150, which Berry is abundantly able to pay! But the governor, as if anticipating the indignation of the people, comes before them—in that familiar attitude in which he should be photographed—with a bundle of apologies under his arm, which are none the less his that they are put forth anonymously. And such apologies! Let us enumerate them:— [1] “It was a first offense.” So is that of Chastine Cox and many other murderers; and which, morally speaking, is the worse—the killing of a body or the wholesale destruction of souls? [2] “The papers and petitions in behalf of Berry were numerous and strong.” The signatures numbered, we learn, 150. Why didn’t they number thousands?—for the brothels and hells of this city would have promptly supplied them. And note a touching thing! [3] the owner of the “opera-house” [2], to whom Berry paid his rent, joins in the request for his release, and certifies that after he was arrested Berry stopped his orgies. How kind in Berry to have stopped under the circumstances! [4] “The jury recommended Berry to mercy, and expected mercy would have been shown.” Indeed! The law provides for a year’s imprisonment and a fine of $250. The Court awards neither the one nor the other, but the jury thought mercy would be shown! Why didn’t they supply the mercy themselves, and acquit the poor fellow on the spot? [5] Berry “is an orderly and well-behaved man of excellent character.” A keeper of a bawdy house—of an infamous house of unspeakable indecencies—such an one an “excellent character”! Certificates of good character seem to be so abundant that after this no one ought to be without one. They are indispensable in every family! But [6] “Berry lost $10,000”;—poor Berry! He lost part of the gains from his infamies in the costs incurred in his unsuccessful appeals to the Courts. Why shouldn’t he be released, and why shouldn’t the legislature repay him this amount? [7] “Berry’s mother is prostrated, and will die of a broken heart if not released.” Governor Robinson, how many mothers’ hearts have been broken by the conduct of erring sons! Nay, how many mothers’ hearts have been broken by the ruin of their sons’ souls at such places as Berry’s “Opera House”? Governor Robinson, other mothers besides Berry’s mother are dying of broken hearts, as countless thousands have died before them—hearts broken by the loss of their sons’ souls in just such dens of infamy as Berry’s! Finally the governor quotes a non-committal letter from District-Attorney Phelps, who, however, neither raises objection nor asks for Berry’s release. But the worst thing in the governor’s apology is the long extract, quoted in justification of his course, from the letter of one who, although nominally a judge, has not sat on the bench for five months, who is utterly incapacitated for the discharge of any judicial duties, as the governor assuredly knows;—and he must know more concerning which a decent kindliness compels silence. Why was that name allowed to be printed to a justification of the governor’s action? Why did not the governor procure some certificates from Bloomingdale? Here we rest. The task has not been a pleasant one;—we had rather say a good word for the governor any day than utter a reproachful syllable;—but if we have shown our readers how utterly unjustifiable the governor’s course is, how he has wronged the moral sense of the community, how he has prostituted justice, the work will not be without a measure of compensation. Few men have finer abilities than Governor Robinson; none have entered the gubernatorial office with better reputation; and shall we not say that, with all the good service which he has rendered, and which we gladly recognize, few have ever left the office, as Governor Robinson will leave it, accompanied by a greater measure of reproach! It is not Berry’s case only, nor Cosgrove’s, nor Eustace’s, nor Doyle’s, nor the giving away the people’s money to Roman Catholic sectarian institutions, nor vetoing the Tramp Act;—it is the constant and repeated pandering to the worst elements in his party by one who can have no personal sympathy with them, by one who knew better and who could have done better, but did not,—it is this which has forfeited Governor Robinson the regard of good men, irrespective of party; it is this which would make his elevation to the gubernatorial office a second time—which, however, we do not anticipate—nothing less than a calamity.—Christian at Work.