The man is John Howard, who travelled tens of
thousands of miles, and spent many years in visiting gaols all over
England and the Continent, and in endeavouring to render prison life
less degrading and brutalising. Wherever he went prison doors were
unlocked as if he possessed a magic key; and by his life and books he
did more to help prisoners than any other man.
It is only just over a hundred years since John Howard died; yet in
his day persons could be put to death for stealing a horse or a sheep,
for robbing dwellings, for defrauding creditors, for forgery, for
wounding deer, for killing or maiming cattle, for stealing goods to
the value of five shillings, or even for cutting a band in a hop
plantation. And many persons who were innocent of any offence would
lie in dungeons for years!
At his father's death John Howard came into possession of a good
property; and, marrying a lady some years older than himself, settled
down on his estate and passed three years of quiet happiness.
Then a great grief came to him. His wife died, and Howard was bowed
down with sorrow.
But the distress brought with it a longing to be a comfort to others;
and he set out for Lisbon, which had just been visited by the great
earthquake of 1755, with the hope of assisting the homeless and
suffering.
Pages:
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114