ANNUAL REPORT.

WITH gratitude to God for his mercies, and earnest prayer, in the name of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, for the outpouring of his holy spirit on all Prisons, and on all the Insane Poor, whether remaining in Prison, or already removed to suitable Asylums, the managers of the Prison Discipline Society present their Seventeenth Annual Report.

"Blessed is he that considereth the poor: the Lord will preserve him, and keep him alive." In looking over the large list of principal friends and benefactors of the Society, we notice the death of but two, during the last year. It is a source of grateful feeling, that so large a proportion of our friends have been kept alive.

Among those, however, who have been benefited by the Society's labors, we have lost a friend, in the person of a reformed convict, who, perhaps, did more for the cause while living, and may continue to do more though dead, than any other We shall notice him at length in the

man.

PLAN OF THE REPORT.

1. Jacob Hodges.

2. Diminution of Crime.

3. Penitentiaries and Prisons.

4. Pennsylvania System of Prison Discipline.
5. Asylums for Lunatics.

1. JACOB HODGES.

EXTRACT OF A LETTER CONCERNING HIM FROM THE REV. ANSEL D. EDDY, OF NEWARK, N. J.

Mr. Eddy was formerly pastor of the Congregational church in Canandaigua, with which Jacob united when he went there

to live. He remained in Canandaigua several years after Jacob joined the church under his care, and had frequent and favorable opportunities of observation upon his conduct. After Jacob's death, in February, 1842, Mr. Eddy was requested by the Committee of arrangements for the seventeenth anniversary of the Prison Discipline Society, to be present at the annual meeting in Boston, and testify before the friends of the Society, what he knew concerning the conduct and character of Jacob Hodges, a reformed convict, who had long been a cherished object of care and affection with the Society. Mr. Eddy wrote, in reply to the letter of invitation, as follows:

"I will try to be with you. The object is one near my heart. I have written his history, and offered it to the Sabbath School Committee for publication. It is about the extent of three sermons. I wish I could give you a brief of it. I think it would add interest to your meeting to have his whole life and death before you.

"He was born in Lancaster, Penn., of poor free parents. At ten years of age, he entered a seafaring life, - a boy waiter to every body on board; continued at sea till some time during the last war, visiting every part of Europe. Thrown upon shore, in his poverty, ignorance, and guilt, he wandered into Orange county, where his crime was perpetrated. If you can lay your hand on a book called the 'Criminal Calendar,' you will find the detail of his trial. This, with his own story, and Abbott's Young Christian,' with what I knew of him myself, furnished me the data from which I made up my account of him.

"Mrs. Martin, with whom he lived in Canandaigua, who is now at our house, is enthusiastic in her admiration of him.

"In addition to the notice of Jacob in the New York Observer,' I would state that Jacob's Bible may have a story with it. There was one wretched white family in Canandaigua, forsaken of all;- too low and bad to call forth help or hope. He went to see, and urge them to rise and live. He spent night after night with them; took his Bible, and read to them. The son came to Jacob for instruction. His mother soon followed; the father also. The two first mentioned have joined the church; the old man is reformed. This is one specimen of his usefulness."

Mr. Eddy was present at the meeting, and gave his testimony concerning Jacob.

The secretary of the Prison Discipline Society had several conversations with him at different periods, both in Prison and after his discharge, embracing a period of thirteen years of his life, and made, at the time, a record, from his lips, of his conversation, which has been carefully preserved, and is now given to the public. Mr. Abbott's notice of Jacob, published some years since in the "Young Christian," was taken from the second conversation, as here published. It was given in that book without a name, as the Second Convict's Story, with the initial W. because the person to whom it related was then alive. The following is a record of the first conversation:

October 12, 1826.

My First Conversation with a Black Man, called Jack Hodges, in the Auburn Prison.

I don't know exactly; but I judge myself to be about fifty-two."

"Have you been a great sinner?"

"What have you done that is so wicked?"

"I have done every thing that is abominable in the sight of God; cursing, and swearing, and getting drunk, and murder at last."

"Do you know that no murderer can enter the kingdom of God?"

"I thought, first, that there could be no hope; but as I read further, I found that, if I repented and believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, I might be saved."

"If you get to heaven, how do you expect to get there?" "Through the mercies of the Lord Jesus Christ. In my prayers I cast myself on him."

Said Mr. Curtis,

"In the providence of God, you have a long sentence; here you must live, and here you may die. Can you say, Thy will be done'?"

"That is my prayer."

Again, I said to him,

"Do you feel any gratitude?"

Yes, sir; I feel grateful that I was brought here. When Mr. Curtis had been here about five months, he preached his last sermon, and said he was going away. I thought my all was lost, that I should die; but when he came back, I was so lifted up, I cannot tell how I felt. My happiness is in hearing the word of God."

"What has the Lord Jesus Christ done for your soul?”

"I don't know that he has done any thing for my soul yet; for when I think heaven is such a good place, I think that such a sinner as I am cannot go there; but then I hear some words 'Come, cheer up! you may be saved.'”

Mr. Curtis said,

"I preached last Sabbath for the purpose of showing you how you might know whether you are a child of God."

"I said, as I examined myself, I could find no holiness in me."

"Do you feel that you are growing better?"

"I feel worse and worse every day. My guilt appears worse and worse."

"Do you think sin is any less sinful because it is repented of?"

"No, sir, I should think not. The more I love God, the more I hate myself."

"Do you think you love God?",

"I do."

"What makes you think you love God?"

"Because I don't love to see any thing that is bad; and because, when I go to hear his word, it kindles up in me, and I love it."

"Did you not always have such feelings towards God?"

"No, sir. When I first came to this place, I loved every thing else."

"How long since you began to love God?"

"About four months ago, I was thinking upon my past life, and I felt a weight in my heart, and I thought I should sink, and then the love of God was shed abroad in my heart." "Do you love to read the WORD of God?"

"Yes, sir, more than my victuals and my drink."

"Do you remember what is said concerning 'my Beloved'?" "I feel love to him who gave himself for my justification." "Do you believe there is any Holy Ghost?"

"I read it."

"What do you understand by it?"

"I do not know."

"You believe something has been done in your heart." "I believe my heart has been changed."

He seemed pleased with the views which were given him of the Holy Ghost.

"Where would you have been if you had not been arrested?"

"I should have been this day in torment; for I was going 'swift to destruction."

He was asked if he loved Mr. Curtis. He said he poured out his whole heart in prayer for Mr. Curtis. He finished this interview in language expressive of so much humility and brokenness of heart, and, at the same time, of so much spirituality and Christian affection, and in a manner so endearing, that I did not attempt to write, or stop him that I might take the words from his mouth, lest I should break the beautiful flow of his language and thought. When he took my hand, with a giant's grasp, to bid me "Good-by," the great tears rolled down his cheeks, and he turned and walked away from

us with great gravity and humility. As he shut the door, Mr. Curtis said, "I have not a brother in the world whom I love more than that negro." I will only add to the narrative, in this place, what I have often said, that Jack Hodges was the only man that ever reminded me, by his air, his gravity, his native dignity, his step and tread, of Washington. He always did. And, as some proof that it was not my eye alone that was thus moved by seeing him, it may be stated that, when this remark was made concerning him, some years since, to the superintendent of the Baltimore Penitentiary, who had just returned to Baltimore from a visit to the Auburn Prison, he instantly said, "I saw that man when I was there, and marked him in the yard among six hundred convicts, for his air. Did he not lead one of the gangs in their daily marches through the yard?" The place allotted to him was always as a leader of one of the gangs.

AUBURN PRISON, N. Y., March 31, 1828. Made preparations with Mr. Curtis, the chaplain, for per

sonal conversation and examination of serious convicts.

My Second Conversation with Jack Hodges.

"Does not

He is familiarly called Old Jack. He is a black man, aged about fifty-four; was born in Lancaster, Penn. know his age accurately; is ignorant; could not read the Bible when he came to this Prison. Since he came here, has studied in his cell, and learnt to read. The crime for which he was sentenced for twenty-one years was, killing a man. He was led away to commit this crime by the man he lived with, who had been at him five or six months to do it, before he would; and then he would not; but he was first made drunk, and then he committed the horrible crime for which he was sentenced. The man who was killed was a very bad man so counted by all Orange county."

"But, bad as he was," said Jack, "it was no cloak for me: I had no business with him. I shot at him," said Jack, "and then Dunning took the gun, and beat him over the head till he was dead.”

"You was drunk, was you?"

"I was not very drunk, at the time that I shot; but I had been stupid, and the rum had got out of me. It was in the skirts of the woods. I had been asleep there, and Dunning came and woke me up, and said, if we meant to do any thing, we had better do it then. It hurts my heart to talk about it,"