Until 1821, no compensation was allowed the prisoners for what they did over their task. In that year, a regulation was made, granting one cent per yard for all that might be done over ten yards per day in the summer, and eight in the winter, to be paid in goods out of the store, or money, at the option of the Superintendent.

This was thought by many to be a very unequal regulation. The average profit to the Institution of every yard of cloth that was woven, could not have been less than four cents; and as the prisoners must do their full task before they could derive any benefit from the regulation, it was thought that they should have all that they earned over it. The language of the regulation, fairly interpreted, seemed to be this—Give me four cents in cash, and I will give you an order on the store for one! It assumed to be a very merciful provision for the prisoners, but it was like the mercies of the wicked—"cruel." Every man of any just principles, who has no interest to warp his judgment, will at once admit, that the prisoners ought to have had all the avails of their overwork. But anyone can see that the interest of the prisoners was not consulted at all in the regulation. The design of it was to get as much work done as possible, and the one cent was only a bait. That I have not erred in stating the design of the Superintendent, in his regulations for overwork, to be his own benefit, and not that of the prisoners, is very evident from his conduct in relation to those who complied with them. He would not pay money except at his own option, but paid out of the stores; and to induce the prisoners to do overwork, and take their pay in trifles, he permitted them to purchase almost any thing they wished, and very many articles which had never been allowed them before. He even went so far as to bring into the weave-shops specimens of very gay handkerchiefs, and carry them along in sight of the prisoners to tempt them to earn some. This had its desired effect, and handkerchiefs soon became very plenty. But the worst of all was, the extravagant prices demanded for all articles sent to the prison. One of the keepers told me that he could take the money and purchase things for a quarter less than the prisoners gave. After my release I went into different stores in the village, and ascertained that I had been charged a very high price indeed for what I had purchased.

Another expedient to get work out of the prisoners, was the offering of bounties to those who should weave the most yards in six months. This created a spirit of emulation, and drew forth miracles of industry. I took one of these prizes, but I shall have to regret till my dying hour that I ever entered that race. I feel the effects of it, at times, in every part of my system.

As soon as the prisoners began, generally, to enlist in the overwork, they began to be charged for things that were furnished to them before without pay. If they broke any thing, or did the least damage to their tools, in a way that was deemed careless, they had to pay for it. Handkerchiefs which were furnished gratis, before, they had now to pay for. And every expedient that avarice could devise was practiced, to make the prisoners' accounts against the Institution as small as possible.

I consider the regulations for overwork as the spawn of a most miserly disposition. There was no benevolence in it. If the good of the convicts had been the object of it, there would have been no "one cent a yard paid out of the store," but the full amount of the extra labor, paid in money; and the entire plan would have endured a close examination in day light. There would have been no mean taxing for accidents and trifles—no paying in gewgaws—no extravagant prices; but all things would have been as indicative of pity and good will to the wretched, as they now are of self-interest and steel hearted avarice. And the benefits of the regulation would have been equalized, so that a man who had not so good a faculty as another, would not have been deprived of them. Some men had power to do twice as much as some others, and they could derive some advantage, while the others could not, though both were equally deserving of favors; so that the Superintendent's regulation was very similar to Calvin's irrespective decrees and partial election.

But faulty as the principles of the one cent system were, some good certainly grew out of it. It is a bad system, indeed, that has nothing good in it. But the good was much more than balanced by the evil. It ruined many a constitution; sent more than one man prematurely to the grave; and laid up for all, the pains of infirmity and old age.

This sketch shows on what principle the prison is conducted. There may be many minor principles. Of these the reformation of the prisoners may be a fraction. Their punishment may be a unit. But the major point of all is, PECUNIARY ADVANTAGE. The interest of the captives is not a grain in the calculations of the prison. If they live, they live, and if they die, they die. But living or dead, sick or well, sinning or praying, saved or lost, they are estimated in pounds, shillings, and pence, and one farthing would turn the scale of their destiny to heaven or hell.

How true is the language of the poet—"There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart!—It does not feel for man." And surely the morals of mankind must have reached a dreadful climax, when even ministers of justice deserve heavier blows than they inflict, and the seraph accents of mercy are turned into the war whoop of death.