"

cheap?" "To whom have I the honour of speaking?" I replied. 'I am the chaplain," said he. "I don't suppose you will have much need of me. If you have you can send for me." He turned on his heel and disappeared. I never saw him again save in the distance at chapel when he went through the services in a way unintelligible to me where I sat, but I was told he had a rather good voice. His name was Stocken.* He had admonished Jacques for mixing himself up with the Salvation Army -poor Jacques was certainly guiltless of that crime. This was the only creature whom I met among all those to whose care, spiritual and temporal, I was entrusted who ever said an unkind word. Governors, chief warders, principal warders, and ordinary turnkeys and gaolers, together with the other chaplains, assistant chaplains, Scripture readers, etc., were all most courteous and humane, not merely to me, but, as far as I could see, to all my fellow-prisoners.

SHIVERING IN THE DARK.

After Stocken departed, I was left alone for some hours. The breakfast of bread and skilly had been served out, my bedclothes had been rolled up, and I sat alone in the darkness. A dense fog lay heavy upon the outside world. In the cell nothing but darkness was visible. It was a strange and somewhat weird experience. Yesterday the crowed court, with letters, telegrams, enthusiastic friends; to-day, darkness as of Egypt, in a solitary cell. There was nothing to do. It was too dark to read. And as the hours stole on the cold made itself felt, and I shivered in the cell. Might I wrap myself in the blankets? Yes, if I liked, although it was contrary to regulations. After a while

we were marched to the doctor; he weighed us. In prison costume I weighed 9 st. 11 lb. 1 complained of the cold. "The cells," said he, in the usual dry official way, are heated to a temperature of 60 degrees "; and there was an end of that. No doubt they ought to be, but as a matter of fact the reception cells were not heated to 60 degrees, or anything like 60 degrees. When transferred to B wing, where the cells were heated properly, the change was as if November had given place to May. The warders admitted it readily, and excused it by assuring us that our permanent cells would be much warmer. The doctor, however, took no trouble about the matter; but I would like to know whether, as it is the law that cells must be heated to 60 degrees, some one ought not to be punished when prisoners are allowed to shiver with cold at a temperature of 45 or 50 degrees?

A SYMPATHETIC GOVERNOR.

Before we saw the doctor we were inspected by the Governor. Captain Helby is a retired naval officer, pleasant and sympathetic. Just twelve months ago I was down at Portsmouth interviewing the Admirals and rejoicing with the authorities in her Majesty's dockyard over the unexpected success of "The Truth about the Navy," and now here I was in the custody of a retired captain in one of her Majesty's prisons. Captain Helby addressed me very kindly. "Whatever sympathy I may have," he said, "with you and your work (and in my private capacity I sympathise very much with you), I can only treat you as an ordinary criminal convict prisoner, who must be subject to the ordinary rules and regulations laid down for the treatment of criminal convict prisoners. I hope, therefore, that you will conform

*This notable chaplain was at Pentonville when Cunningham Grahame and John Burns did their "bit" for Trafalgar Square. He lectured them on the sin of rebellion!

yourselves thereto, and that you will not subject me to the painful necessity of subjecting you to discipline." "Sir," I replied, "I think I understand the position in which I ani placed, and to the best of my ability I will conform to the regulations laid down for my guidance." I have often wondered since then what on earth he thought I was likely to do that might necessitate the infliction of discipline, which, being interpreted, I suppose meant crank, treadwheel, "cells," bread and water, and I know not what else. Editors no doubt are somewhat rare birds in Cold bath-in-the-Fields, but even editors could hardly be expected to assault their warders, or refuse to pick oakum or to wash out their cells.*

DINNER AND VISITORS.

At twelve o'clock the door of the cell was opened, and a tin pot and the usual brown little loaf handed inside. At the bottom of the tin was a tough, gluey composition, which on reference to the dietary scale I found was called a suet pudding. I pecked a little hole in it, tasted it as a kind of sample, and then desisted. More hours passed, and then I was asked whether I would like to see a gentleman of the name of "Waugh "? "Wouldn't I just"? although I confess the kindness of it upset me not a little. It was so like him, and so unexpected. And as I shuffled along the echoing corridors, and was locked in and out of great barred gates, I felt sadder at the thought of his kindness than at all the rest. We sat at the opposite ends of a long table. We were not allowed to shake hands. He read me some kind telegrams and letters. Mr. Waugh wished to present me in gaol with a copy of his "Gaol Cradle," an excellent book which he has allowed to go out of print; but that was forbidden. Nothing must pass from the outer world to a prisoner. He must read nothing but that which is provided in the gaol library, and only as much of that as is doled out to him by the chaplain. So Mr. Waugh had sorrowfully to carry his "Gaol Cradle" back again. Then came another surprise: Dr. Clifford, armed with a Home Office order, succeeded Mr. Waugh, and we had a pleasant little talk. After he went away I was tramped back to my cell, which, however, I had to vacate almost immediately.

MY SECOND CELL.

I was taken away to the B wing, and there placed in cell No. 8 in the second floor. I got a new label, B, and had a brass number sewed upon the other side of my coat. Jacques was taken off to another wing, and I saw him to speak to no more. I was placed under the charge of a warder whose name I think was Smithers, a kindly, courteous official, whom I regretted not being able to thank when I was so unexpectedly carried off to Holloway.

What a welcome change it was to my new cell can only be appreciated by those who have shivered for hours in an unwarmed cell. For my new cell was really heated. up to 60 degrees, and the pleasure of the change was immense. All pleasures are comparative. If you feed a man on bread and water he will rejoice more over skilly than an epicure over a Lord Mayor's banquet. The great secret of enjoyment is to do without for a time. never thought I could have hungered and thirsted so keenly for a bit of chop as after my three days on low diet. As for a cup of tea, that seemed a beatific vision of unattainable bliss.

Ι

* At this time William O'Brien had not made his historic fight for his breeches,

HOW TO SLEEP ON A PLANK BED.

My pleasure at the warmth was somewhat damped by the announcement that I was to have no mattress. Criminal convicts must sleep on bare boards. I winced a bit, but I remembered poor William's receipt, and took courage. As some may not have seen that receipt, I will repeat it here. When you have to sleep on bare boards

you will discover that the weight of your body rests almost entirely on your shoulders and your hip joints. Wrap your coat round your shoulders, your breeches round your loins, and, if you have no oakum, put your waistcoat in your hat for a pillow, and you will be able to sleep without waking at midnight with aching bones. If you are found out you will be reported; you are not allowed to sleep in your clothes. There is a peep-hole in the door of every cell through which the warder looks to see that you are all right according to regulations, but unless he has a spite against you he will not, as a rule, discover that your clothes are round your hips instead of being outside the bed.

THE WARDER.

LIFE AS A CRIMINAL CONVICT.

I enjoyed my two days in B3 very much. The change from the cold of R was very great. The dense fog lifted, and I could see to read. There was in the cell a Bible, a Prayer Book, and a library book, Dean Vaughan's "Consolation for the Sorrowful." Then, again, I was allowed the luxury of having something to do. I scoured out my cell in the morning with hearty good will, and scrubbed my table and stool. Then I set to work to pick oakum. It was not the proper oakum, but coir fibre. I had to pick from ten ounces to one pound. It is an excellent meditative occupation. But it is hard at first on the finger-nails. Mine wanted trimming; for, if the nails are not short, the leverage on the nail in disentangling the fibre causes considerable suffering. "How do prisoners do when they want their nails cut?" I asked. "Bite 'em," laconically replied the warder. You don't know how strange it feels to have neither knife nor scissors, nor pens, nor pencils, nor pockets, although of course it may be said that you don't need pockets if you have nothing to put into them. Those who say this forget that even prisoners use hands. Here is a diagram of my cell:

The plank bed is raised from the floor just high enough to allow mice free space to frolic under the planks. The bedclothes are rolled up tight every morning and the roll stood on end on the highest of these shelves in the corner. There is a little whitening for polishing the drinking can, the can itself, a piece of soap, and the salt cellar.

THE MESSAGE IN THE SALT CELLAR.

In my salt cellar I found a pathetic little note from the previous occupant of my cell. I envied him his lead pencil; the paper was one of the ordinary brown sheets supplied to all prisoners. He had written it, apparently, the first day of his imprisonment and buried it in the salt cellar, where he had forgotten it. This message-half illegible now-I retain as one of the most pathetic mementoes of my incarceration. But in the hope that this letter from within the prison walls may yet perchance meet the eye of the poor mother whose son occupied my cell, I reproduce it here. It runs thus:

SALT-CELLAR.

"24 (illegible), 1885.

"My dear Mother, This is my first day here after my unjust conviction. The solitude is really dreadful to bear, but must go through with it bravely. Comfort Fanny and the children, and do not let them want for anything. They had better move into the little cottage I was after, as then Arthur would live with them and do something towards the rent. Do look after Fanny, as if anything were to happen to her it would break my heart, and nothing would be worth living for."

How my heart went out to the unknown writer of these lines!* Dear soul, how I wondered and still wonder where he is. Whether anything has happened to Fanny. And who was Fanny? His daughter, his sister, or some one whom he loved! Who knows? But there the dingy little paper lies, with its message of love and kindly forethought for dear mother and the children, but especially for Fanny-life would not be worth living if anything happens to her. It was a blessed message to me, cheering me in my cell as no chapel service or printed word cheered me in Coldbath. For I thought, mayhap if Fanny is under sixteen or even eighteen, there is less danger of anything happening to her now; and she is but one, and there are many Fannys. And yet even for that poor prisoner's sake alone was it not worth while?

Wooden Pillow

MY NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOUR.

In No. 7 was an elderly man, not there for the first time, who was in for stealing a pail. He sang a good deal by himself. His voice was good, and he seemed to have many hymns by heart. On the other side was a young fellow who had eighteen months for passing counterfeit coin. He had been there six months, and had still twelve more to serve. Six months! What a contrast between his last half-year and mine! He was a kindly soul, and his sympathetic word to me as we trudged to chapel in single file, that my "three months would soon be done," was very pleasant. On the whole I liked my fellow-prisoners, with one or two exceptions, very

Water Cani

Washing Basin

Window

*Alas! the authorities at Coldbath felt no such kindly sentiments. Every salt-cellar was turned out and examined, after this article appeared, to discover and destroy any similar message.

much, and I felt a strange new sense of brotherhood with convicts and criminals, which was in itself a boon worth coming to gaol to gain.

EARLY MORNING IN GAOL.

This was the order of our day at Coldbath. At a quarter to six the bell rang. You rise and dress in the dark. At six the warder opens the door, and you throw your bedclothes over the polished iron balustrade that runs round the corridor outside the cells. The door is locked again, and you scour out your cell. Then the door is unlocked, and you bring in your bedclothes and roll them up, strap them tightly, and set them away on the shelf. You are asked if you have any applications to make for the governor, doctor, or chaplain, and your application is duly noted and reported. Then you take your oakum, picked and unpicked, to the warder who weighs it, examines its quality, and gives you out a fresh quantum for the day. It is a strange sight, a great gaol all stone and iron, with innumerable gas jets twinkling down the corridors and the prisoners moving to and fro with their bundles of oakum. When people run all round the world in search of novel sights and strange sensations, what a mine of unexplored novelties they neglect in London gaols! At eight o'clock your skilly and bread are handed in, and then about half-past eight the summons comes for chapel. You turn out of your cell, put on your hat, and stand with your face to the door of your cell till the word is given to march. Then you face about and march in single file along the corridors, upstairs, and along many passages.

AT CHAPEL.

The road to chapel is like the road to heaven-it is a narrow way, and it winds upward still. Both at Coldbath and Holloway the chapel is perched as near the sky as the building permits. Chapel at Coldbath was a mockery. We filed in, and took our seats about a couple of feet apart; very few prisoners brought their Prayerbooks or their Bibles. A distant and more or less inarticulate sound as of reading is heard. Now and again we stump down on our knees, but do not bend our heads, or close our eyes, or take part in any responses. Oh! how I longed for a stave of song, or even for the melodious music of the inarticulate organ. But there was not a sound, save the voice of Chaplain Stocken droning away from the desk. When that ceased, we were marched back again to our cells, where we picked oakum.

INSPECTION, EXERCISE, AND MEALS.

At eleven the governor or the chief warder came round. You have to stand with your back to the wall with your hat in your hand, and answer any questions that are put to you. The inspection is brief. If your cell is clean and neat and you have no complaint to make, it is almost momentary, and the door is locked. The door is locked and unlocked about twelve times in the day. After inspection, or sometimes after dinner, you go out for exercise. We marched in single file round and round the exercise ground. It was a pleasant sight for me to see the sky again, and the green grass, and to hear from over the high walls of the prison the welcome sounds of common life. The rumble and the roar of the traffic, the cries of the street sellers, and even the strains of a barrel organ sounded pleasanter to the prisoner and captive than they do to the free man outside. Dinner is served at twelve-once we had soup which tasted well but did not digest, and another day two whole potatoes boiled in their jackets, together with the unvarying six ounces of wholemeal bread. Supper-bread and skilly-comes at five, and then your gas is lit, and you can read till

eight. You are not allowed to go to bed before the bell rings, why, I don't exactly know. I have a somewhat weak spine, and my back ached so badly sometimes; but a stretch, even on a plank bed, is forbidden till a quarter past eight.

The monotony of my day was broken by several visits. Amongst others my solicitor called about pending cases, and swore a good comfortable oath at the "degradation of my costume. I did not feel degraded one whit. All the same, I enjoyed the sympathy much more, I fear, than I condemned the immorality of the oath. At last, after being three days in Coldbath, 1 was summoned to receive another visitor, who brought me news that the Home Secretary had decided to transfer me to Holloway without waiting to communicate with the judge. An hour afterwards I doffed my prison garb, and was driving in a hansom to Holloway Gaol.

II-IN HOLLOWAY PRISON AS FIRST-CLASS MISDEMEANANT.

"I did not know," said Lord Beaconsfield, as Mr. Torrens drove him round the northern heights of the great city," that you had a feudal castle in the north of London." Mr. Torrens explained that the feudal castle was only a modern gaol. I was as ignorant as Lord Beaconsfield on the subject, for not until I was driven to the gate of the gaol did I know how noble a pile of masonry had been reared in Holloway for the accommodation of the criminals of London. The stately building with its castellated keep and its spacious wings I had seen many years ago from the top of the Monument, and wondered what it was, little dreaming that the next tim I saw it I was about to enter its gates as a prisoner. Not that any feelings of regret passed even for a moment through my mind.

A DELIGHTFUL HOLIDAY.

The exhilaration of the change from the other gaol, the pleasure of being once more at home in my own clothes, and the keen interest excited by the sight of the imposing edifice in which I was to enjoy the hospitality of the Crown for a couple of months, left no room for anything but the liveliest feelings of curiosity and gratitude. And my stay in Holloway, excepting for one or two dark shadows from outside, which filled my room with the gloom of the grave, was a period of unbroken joy. Never had I a pleasanter holiday, a more charming season of repose. I had been trying in vain to get rest ever since the famous fiasco of Penjdeh left England and Russia at peace, and at last it had come. I had sought it in vain in Switzerland, but I found it in Holloway. Here, as in an enchanted castle, jealously guarded by liveried retainers, I was kept secure from the strife of tongues, and afforded the rare luxury of journalistic leisure. From the governor, Colonel Milman, to the poor fellow who scrubbed out my room, every one was as kind as kind could be. From all parts of the Empire, even from distant Fiji, rained down upon me every morning the benedictions of men and women who had felt in the midst of their lifelong labours for the outcast the unexpected lift of the great outburst of compassion and indignation which followed the publication of the "Maiden Tribute." I had papers, books, letters, flowers, everything that heart could wish.

CHRISTMAS IN GAOL.

Twice a week my wife brought the sunlight of her presence into the pretty room, all hung round with Christmas greetings from absent friends, and twice a week she brought with her one of the children. On the

day after Christmas the whole family came, excepting the little two-year-old, and what high jinks we had in the old gaol with all the bairns! The room was rather small for blind man's buff, but we managed it somehow, and never was there a merrier little party than that which met in cell No. 2 on the ground floor of the E wing of Holloway Gaol, which that Christmas was in the occupation of a certain "misdemeanant of the first division," named Stead. Mr. Talbot, my minister at Wimbledon, whose thoughtful kindness has never varied, came once a week, while I had visitors from my staff every other day.

VISITORS.

The magistrates placed a veto upon the visits of all persons who had taken part in the recent agitation. If any one wished to see me I had to submit his name tɔ the governor, who submitted it to the visiting magistrates, and when they gave it their sauction, the person named was allowed to visit me, not in my room, but in the ordinary visiting cell, for half an hour between two and five. I interviewed Mr. T. P. O'Connor in Holloway Gaol as to the part which he had played in the general eletion, but I did not see more than half-a-dozen M.P.'s and about half-a-dozen others altogether, excluding the regular weekly visitants. It is specially laid down in the rules for the guidance of misdemeanants of the first division that they may work at their trades, and I worked at mine all through my term. I got the newspapers every morning at a quarter past seven, and at ten o'clock the messenger got his copy. It was rather

amusing to me to receive lamentations over the erratic course which the Pall Mall Gazette was taking "in the absence of my guiding hand," while the erratic articles complained of were often from my own pen. There was no restriction placed upon me as to what I wrote with two exceptions. I was not to allude in any way to the discipline of the gaol or to any of the subjects connected with the New Crusade. I could publish what I pleased when I came out, but during my incarceration nothing was to appear from me in print that related directly or indirectly to my judge, my trial, to the Criminal Law Amendment Act, or to anything thereunto belonging. This gave me leisure to write a paper which I had long brooded over, on the gradual development of "Government by Journalism," together with some speculations as to the modifications necessary to enable the editor to wield his sovereignty with greater knowledge and better credentials than he can boast of at present.*

FIRST CLASS TO BE FIRST CLASS."

I do not think that I have ever been in better spirits in my life or enjoyed existence more intensely than in these two months. So far as I could, I let all my friends know how jolly I was, and how entirely the prayers of all my kind supporters had been answered so far as my inward peace and joy were concerned. But they did not seem to be able to believe it. I was constantly receiving letters exhorting me to keep up my heart under this tribulation, and all the while I was far happier and less tribulated than any of my correspondents. My wife declared that she saw more of me since I went to gaol than she had done for the previous six months. Of course I was cut off from many of my best friends, but they wrote constantly, and although I lost their company I gained time to do work that they all wanted to have done. Altogether, I can best sum up my estimate of the "punishment" inflicted on a first-class misdemeanant

* Since published in the Contemporary Review.

at Holloway by saying that if ever I am in a position to ask a guerdon from my country for my profession, I will humbly petition the powers that be to permit any editor of a daily newspaper to convert himself into a first-class misdemeanant at will, for terms of one, two, or three months. There is nothing like being in gaol for getting rid of bores and getting on with work, and I am not sure that if a small voluntary gaol were started by a limited liability company to be run on first-class misdemeanant principles, and managed as admirably as Holloway Gaol, it would not pay a handsome dividend. It would certainly be an incalculable boon to the over-driven, muchworried writers of London.

MY THIRD CELL.

I was warmer in Holloway Gaol than I have been since I came out of it. I was immeasurably quieter. On page 274 is an inside view of my "little room," as the good chaplain always euphemistically described our cells. It is a double cell, just like a college room. I had the same cell as Mr. Yates, of whom traditions still linger in the gaol. I was well supplied with flowers and fruit. I got some lovely boxes of flowers from the South of France, bunches of fragrant violets from Glasgow in the north and Devon in the south. Pots of lilies of the valley, forced into premature bloom, sweetened, and gay tulips and graceful cyclamen brightened the cell. At Christmas time the walls were bright with the holly berries, shining red amid the dark leaves. No Yule log was supplied on Christmas Eve, but with that exception nothing was wanting. On Christmas night the warder entered with a grave face, carrying a roaring lion in his arms. It was muzzled with one of Sir Edmund Henderson's patent dog muzzles, but it roared like life. As it opened its mouth to roar and showed its glistening teeth it could no longer hold a card entrusted to its keeping. I read the inscription: "To our muzzled chief, from four of his staff." The rascals, to pick such fun out of their imprisoned editor! That lion was for the rest of the time the object of universal admiration. It is true he could only be made to roar by pulling a patent bellows concealed in his chest, but even when he stood quite still, with his tail erect, he used to alarm those who saw him for the first time. "The man that made that lion," said one of my warders, "knows how to make a beast, I reckon," and he was right. The animal is now at Wimbledon, where he has succeeded in nearly frightening little Jack into fits.

MY MICE IN THE CELL.

The lion was not the only quadruped in the cell, nor the noisiest. Until I was in gaol I never knew what a racket a single mouse can make. A little midget that would hardly fill a couple of thimbles can keep you awake all night, as it practises gymnastics among your empty boxes, and dances quadrilles upon your newspapers. Lively little fellows were the brown coated companions of my solitude. At first I thought they must be rats, their footfall was so heavy, but I never found traces of anything but mice. The little wretches

kept me awake many an hour, and if they had done it on purpose I could have slain them, but I could not find the heart to punish them for their sport. The capers they cut after the gas was down were most amusing. mouse is as good as a kitten or a kid, if not better, for

A

a solitary mousekin will romp all by itself all round the cell with as much liveliness as if it were a couple of kittens boiled down into one little whiskered rascal with a long tail. One of my small friends, presuming upon my forbearance, took to waltzing over my head as I lay asleep. So I thought it time to teach him a lesson. I smuggled a penny into the cell, and set the mug trap on my supper-table. A little piece of chewed bread is affixed to the inside of a penny, which is stood erect by the edge of the mug being balanced on its rim. mouse comes, nibbles bread, displaces the penny, and down comes the mug on the top of him, and he is yours. I set my trap, and waited. Nothing came, so I went to sleep. Waking as I usually did about two, I see the mug has fallen. Is there a mouse inside? I peep cautiously under the tilted rim, and see to my horror that

The

the

the wretched mouse has gnawed a large hole through my clean new table-cloth. In my disgust I raise the mug a little too high and away scoots the little rascal, leaving me with a spoiled table-cloth and two little heaps of lint by the side of an ugly hole to bear witness to his presence. Moral: never set a mug trap on a table-cloth. Undeterred by this failure, I set another trap. I pasted a piece of paper over a small box, cut a cross in the centre, and sprinkled crumbs over the cross, arranged an inclined plane from the floor to the box, and waited. Presently a hurried scramble and a sudden plop told me mousie was in quod. I jumped up and shut down the lid. There was enough food for a couple of mice inside, and I left him till morning. Once more the mouse got the better of me. Instead of resigning itself to its fate it began to try to gnaw its way out. Imagine a nutmeggrater kept going all night, and you will understand the success of my attempt to silence my little friends. Next morning the warder insisted that "it must be extinct," but I exercised the captive's prerogative of mercy, confessed myself beaten, and let the little prisoner go.

"

THE MICE OF THE AIR.

The mice of the cell were not my only pensioners. I had others in those mice of the air, the London sparrows, whom I used to feed every noon in the hospital grounds. The sketch on page 25 is a highly imaginative version of the feeding-place at the north-east corner of the ground, which was by a large trec. I used to scatter crumbs daily, and sometimes as many as thirty sparrows would be seen feeding together. But it is an artistic exaggeration of the confidence of the birds to show them descending for the crumbs before my back was turned. I tried them many a time, but they never would leave the tree or the wall until I turned the corner. Then there was a general swoop, and they picked up the crumbs till I came round again, when a general stampede took place, and the wall would be lined with birds until once more I

turned the corner, when they came back immediately. If the sparrow is the mouse of the air, the starling is the rat, and there were four of these bold, saucy feathered rats, which used to come to gobble up the crumbs among the sparrows. Other birds I saw none, save once I believe I saw a hen chaffinch in the grounds; and another time there passed far overhead, flying due south, a string of wild ducks. What a view of London they must have had that clear day, and how I wonder what they thought of all these miles and miles of sooty roofs and smoking vent holes which we call London! A pigeon now and then flew over the gaol, and once a rook. But of robin, blackbird, thrush, or wren I

saw none.

EXERCISE.

I could take exercise when I pleased, as long as I pleased, in the daytime, but always in one appointed place-round and round the prison hospital, a neat and commodious structure, built by the present governor almost entirely with prison labour. The walk round the hospital is about one-eighth of a mile, and when there was any sun it was sunny on one side. I constructed an improvised sundial with sticks stuck in the walk, and by their aid and that of the shadow of the hospital knew almost to a minute when it was time to go in. But the sun did not often shine, and sometimes when it did it glared lurid red through smoky fog, beautifully Turneresque, but emitting too little light to cast a shadow. From my study windows on the first Sunday in the new year, the great blood-red sun as it rolled along suffered an odd eclipse from time to time by the tall chimneys that seemed darkling through the fog. The view is not extensive, but how grateful it was after having had no view at all but the walls of a cell for three days, only those can know who have experienced the change.

RENT AND SERVICE.

At Holloway I paid 6s. a week for the rent of my room, 3s. 6d. a week for service, and 2s. 6d. a week I believe for something else-possibly fires and gas. I had my own little kettle and made my own tea: fresh eggs were sent me by some unknown benefactor in Dunville in Ireland, and anything in the shape of food was ordered outside. The hours were the same as at Coldbath. But instead of planks I had a comfortable bed. I was allowed my own hearthrug and easy chairs, as well as a writing desk and a cosy little tea table. At a quarter to six I rose and made my bed, and dressed, then shook and rolled up the hearthrugs and matting, and set to work. At half-past six the surety-a poor fellow who is in for six months because he cannot find two sureties of £25 to answer for his abstention from threats-"I was forsworn," he said to me, "and my brother-in-law said I would be forsworn again"-came in, lighted the fire, washed up the crockery, and generally put things to rights. At a quarter past seven came the papers, which I read at