In the time of the Plantagenets the punishments inflicted on wrongdoers were much more lenient than those which followed in later years. There is none of that brutal flogging which grew up in the last century, the worst time in the whole history of the country, for the people. This flogging not only in the army and navy but also for such offences as vagrancy, lasted even into the present century. In the year 1804 six women were publicly flogged at Gloucester for this offence. Under Whittington this barbarous cruelty would not have been done. There were, it is true, certain punishments which seem excessively cruel. If a man struck a sheriff or an alderman he was sentenced to have his right hand chopped off. That is, indeed, worse than hanging. But, consider, the whole strength of London lay in its power to act and its resolution always to act, as one man. This could only be effected by habitual obedience to law and the most profound respect to the executive officers. Therefore the worst penalty possible—that which deprived a man of his power to work and his power to fight—which reduced him to ruin—which made his innocent children beggars—which branded him till death as a malefactor of the most dangerous kind—was inflicted for such an offence. Here, again, mercy stepped in; for, when the criminal was brought out for execution, if he expressed contrition the offended officer, represented by the Alderman of the Ward—begged that he might be pardoned.

For burglary criminals were ruthlessly hanged. This crime is bad enough now; it is a crime which ought at all times to be punished with the utmost rigour. But in these days what is it that a burglar can carry away from an ordinary house? A clock or two: a silver ring: a lady's watch and chain: a few trinkets: if any money, then only a purse with two or three pounds. The wealth of the family is invested in various securities: if the burglar takes the papers they are of no use to him: there is a current account at the bank; but that cannot be touched. Books, engravings, candlesticks, plated spoons—these are of little real value. Formerly, however, every man kept all his money—all his wealth—in his own house; if he was a rich merchant he had a stone safe or strong box constructed in the wall of his cellar or basement—I have seen such a safe in an old house pulled down about seven years ago. If he was only a small trader or craftsman he kept his money in a box: this he hid: there were various hiding places: behind the bed, under the hearthstone—but they were all known. A burglar, therefore, might, and very often did, take away the whole of a man's property and reduce him to ruin. For this reason it was very wisely ordered that a burglar should be hanged.

They began in the reign of Henry IV. to burn heretics. Later on they burned witches and poisoners. As yet they had not begun to slice off ears and to slit noses: there was no rack: nobody was tortured: nobody was branded on the hand: there was no whipping of women in Bridewell as a public show—that came later: there was no flogging at the cart tail.

Punishments were mild. Sometimes the criminal performed the amende honorable, marching along Chepe bareheaded and wearing nothing but a white shirt, carrying a great wax taper, escorted by the Mayor's sergeants. There was a ducking-stool on the other side of the river, at Bank Side, in which scolds were ducked. There was the thewe, which was a chair in which women were made to sit, lifted high above the crowd, exposed to their derision. There was the pillory, which served for almost all the cases which now come before a police magistrate—adulteration, false weights and measures, selling bad meat: pretending to be an officer of the Mayor: making and selling bad work: forging title deeds; stealing—all were punished in the same way. The offender was carried or led through the City—sometimes mounted with his head to the horse's tail—always with something about his neck to show the nature of his offence, and placed in pillory for a certain time.

There was one punishment always in reserve—the worst of all. This was deprivation of the privileges of a freeman and banishment from the City. 'Go,' said the Mayor. 'Thou shalt dwell with us; trade with us; converse with us; no more. Go.' And so that source of trouble was removed.

We have seen how the trades formed companies—every trade having its own company. It must not, however, be understood that the working man gained much power by their unions. They were organised: they had to obey: obedience was very good for them as it is for all of us, always; but it must be obedience to a corporate body, not to a master. This they did not understand and they tried to form 'covins' or trades unions of their own. The City put down these attempts with a stern hand. The trade companies ruled hours of work, wages, and standard of work. Lastly, though there was no City police to guard the streets, there were certain laws for the maintenance of order. Nobody under the rank of knight was to carry arms in the streets: no one was to walk about the street after nine at night: houses were not to be built over streets. In a word, there were not many laws; but the people were law abiding. And this, perhaps, as much as anything else, explains the greatness of London.