“To the words of dying men regard has always been paid. I am brought hither to suffer death for an act of fraud, of which I confess myself guilty with shame, such as my former state of life naturally produces, and I hope with such sorrow as He, to whom the heart is known, will not disregard. I repent that I have violated the laws by which peace and confidence are established among men; I repent that I have attempted to injure my fellow-creatures; and I repent that I have brought disgrace upon my order, and discredit upon religion: but my offences against God are without number, and can admit only of general confession and general repentance. Grant, Almighty God, for the sake of Jesus Christ, that my repentance, however late, however imperfect, may not be in vain!
“The little good that now remains in my power is to warn others against those temptations by which I have been seduced. I have always sinned against conviction; my principles have never been shaken; I have always considered the Christian religion as a revelation from God, and its divine Author as the Saviour of the world; but the laws of God, though never disowned by me, have often been forgotten. I was led astray from religious strictness by the delusion of show and the delights of voluptuousness. I never knew or attended to the calls of frugality, or the needful minuteness of painful economy. Vanity and pleasure, into which I plunged, required expense disproportionate to my income; expense brought distress upon me; and distress, importunate distress, urged me to temporary fraud.
“For this fraud I am to die; and I die declaring, in the most solemn manner, that, however I have deviated from my own precepts, I have taught others, to the best of my knowledge, and with all sincerity, the true way to eternal happiness. My life, for some few unhappy years past, has been dreadfully erroneous; but my ministry has been always sincere. I have constantly believed; and I now leave the world solemnly avowing my conviction, that there is no other name under Heaven by which we can be saved but only the name of the Lord Jesus; and I entreat all who are here to join with me in my last petition, that, for the sake of that Lord Jesus Christ, my sins may be forgiven, and my soul received into his everlasting kingdom.
“June 27, 1777.”
“William Dodd.”
The body of the Doctor was on the Monday following carried to Cowley, in Buckinghamshire, and deposited in the church there.
During the doctor’s confinement in Newgate (a period of several months) he chiefly employed himself in writing various pieces, which show at once his piety and talent. The principal of these were his “Thoughts in Prison,” in five parts, from which we cannot doubt but that our readers, in finishing our life of so eminent, yet unfortunate, a man, will be gratified by the insertion of a few short extracts. “I began these Thoughts,” says the unhappy man, writing in Newgate, under date of the 23d of April, 1777, after his condemnation, “merely from the impression in my mind, without plan, purpose, or motive, more than the situation of my soul.
“I continued thence on a thoughtful and regular plan; and I have been enabled wonderfully, in a state which in better days I should have supposed would have destroyed all power of reflection, to bring them nearly to a conclusion. I dedicate them to God, and the reflecting serious among my fellow-creatures; and I bless the Almighty for the ability to go through them amidst the terrors of this dire place (Newgate), and the bitter anguish of my disconsolate mind! The thinking will easily pardon all inaccuracies, as I am neither able nor willing to read over these melancholy lines with a curious or critical eye. They are imperfect, but in the language of the heart; and, had I time and inclination, might, and should be, improved.—But——
(Signed)
“W. D.”
The unfortunate author’s Thoughts on his Imprisonment are thus introduced:—
“My friends are gone! harsh on its sullen hinge
Grates the dread door: the massy bolts respond
Tremendous to the surly keeper’s touch:
The dire keys clang, with movement dull and slow,
While their behest the ponderous locks perform:
And, fasten’d firm, the object of their care
Is left to solitude—to sorrow left.
“But wherefore fasten’d? Oh! still stronger bonds
Than bolts, or locks, or doors of molten brass,
To solitude and sorrow could consign
His anguish’d soul, and prison him, though free!
For whither should he fly, or where produce
In open day, and to the golden sun,
His hapless head! whence every laurel torn,
On his bald brow sits grinning infamy:
And all in sportive triumph twines around
The keen, the stinging arrows of disgrace.”
After dwelling on the miseries of that dreary confinement, at sight of which he formerly started back with horror, he adds,
“O dismal change! now not in friendly sort
A Christian visitor, to pour the balm
Of Christian comfort in some wretch’s ear—
I am that wretch myself! and want, much want,
That Christian consolation I bestow’d;
So cheerfully bestow’d! Want, want, my God,
From thee the mercy, which, thou know’st my gladsome soul
Ever sprang forth with transport to impart.
“Why then, mysterious Providence, pursued
With such unfeeling ardour? Why pursued
To death’s dread bourn, by men to me unknown!
Why—stop the deep question; it o’erwhelms my soul;
It reels, it staggers! Earth turns round! My brain
Whirls in confusion! My impetuous heart
Throbs with pulsation not to be restrain’d;
Why?—Where?—O Chesterfield, my son, my son!”
The unfortunate divine afterwards thus proceeds:—
“Nay, talk not of composure! I had thought
In older time, that my weak heart was soft,
And pity’s self might break it. I had thought
That marble-eyed Severity would crack
The slender nerves which guide my reins of sense,
And give me up to madness! ’Tis not so;
My heart is callous, and my nerves are tough;
It will not break; they will not crack; or else
What more, just heaven! was wanting to the deed,
Than to behold—Oh! that eternal night
Had in that moment screened from myself!
My Stanhope to behold! Ah! piercing sight!
Forget it; ’tis distraction: speak who can!
But I am lost! a criminal adjudged!”
It is not a little singular that Dr. Dodd, a few years before his death, published a Sermon, intitled, “The frequency of capital punishments inconsistent with justice, sound policy, and religion.” This, he says, was intended to have been preached at the Chapel-royal, at St. James’s; but omitted on account of the absence of the court, during the author’s month of waiting.
The following extract will show the unfortunate man’s opinion on this subject, although there is no reason to suppose that he then contemplated the commission of the crime for which he suffered. He says,
“It would be easy to show the injustice of those laws which demand blood for the slightest offences; the superior justice and propriety of inflicting perpetual and laborious servitude; the