What would these enemies of the gibbet have—­these lineal descendants of the drunken mobs that hooted the hangman at Tyburn Tree; this progeny of criminals, which has so defiled with the mud of its animosity the noble office of public, executioner that even “in this enlightened age” he shirks his high duty, entrusting it to a hidden or unnamed subordinate?  If murder is unjust of what importance is it whether its punishment by death be just or not?—­nobody needs to incur it.  Men are not drafted for the death penalty; they volunteer.  “Then it is not deterrent,” mutters the gentleman whose rude forefather hooted the hangman.  Well, as to that, the law which is to accomplish more than a part of its purpose must be awaited with great patience.  Every murder proves that hanging is not altogether deterrent; every hanging, that it is somewhat deterrent—­it deters the person hanged.  A man’s first murder is his crime, his second is ours.

The socialists, it seems, believe with Alphonse Karr, in the expediency of abolishing the death penalty; but apparently they do not hold, with him, that the assassins should begin.  They want the state to begin, believing that the magnanimous example will effect a change of heart in those about to murder.  This, I take it, is the meaning of their assertion that death penalties have not the deterring influence that imprisonment for life carries.  In this they obviously err:  death deters at least the person who suffers it—­he commits no more murder; whereas the assassin who is imprisoned for life and immune from further punishment may with impunity kill his keeper or whomsoever he may be able to get at.  Even as matters now are, incessant vigilance is required to prevent convicts in prison from murdering their attendants and one another.  How would it be if the “life-termer” were assured against any additional inconvenience for braining a guard occasionally, or strangling a chaplain now and then?  A penitentiary may be described as a place of punishment and reward; and under the system proposed, the difference in desirableness between a sentence and an appointment would be virtually effaced.  To overcome this objection a life sentence would have to mean solitary confinement, and that means insanity.  Is that what these gentlemen propose to substitute for death?

The death penalty, say these amiables and futilitarians, creates blood-thirstiness in the unthinking masses and defeats its own ends—­is itself a cause of murder, not a check.  These gentlemen are themselves of “the unthinking masses”—­they do not know how to think.  Let them try to trace and lucidly expound the chain of motives lying between the knowledge that a murderer has been hanged and the wish to commit a murder.  How, precisely, does the one beget the other?  By what unearthly process of reasoning does a man turning away from the gallows persuade himself that it is expedient to incur the danger of hanging?  Let us have pointed out to us the several steps in that remarkable mental progress.  Obviously, the thing is absurd; one might as reasonably say that contemplation of a pitted face will make a man wish to go and catch smallpox, or the spectacle of an amputated limb on the scrap-heap of a hospital tempt him to cut off his arm or renounce his leg.