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. PARDONS.