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¶ i.

PENTONVILLE PRISON.

 Half-way along that extreme northern thoroughfare which runs almost parallel with the Thames, and which, under the name of the New Road, stretches from the "YORKSHIRE STINGO" by Paddington, to that great metropolitan anomaly the city turnpike, there stands an obeliskine lamp-post in the centre of the roadway. This spot is now known as "King's Cross," in commemoration of a rude stucco statue of George the Fourth, that was once erected here by an artistic bricklayer, and had a small police station in its pedestal, but which has long since been broken up and used to mend the highway that it formerly encumbered.
    Here is seen the terminus of the Great Northern Railway, with its brace of huge glass archways, looking like a crystal imitation of the Thames Tunnel; here, too, are found giant public-houses, with "double frontage," or doors before and behind; and would-be grand architectural depots for quack medicines; and enormous "crystal-palace" slop-shops, with the front walls converted into one broad and high window, where the "Oxonian coats," and "Talma capes," and "Sydenham trousers," and "Fancy vests," are piled up several storeys high, while the doorway is set round with sprucely-dressed "dummies" of young gentlemen that have their gloved fingers spread out like bunches of radishes, and images of grinning countrymen in "wide-awakes," and red plush waistcoats.
    This same King's Cross is the Seven Dials of the New Road, whence a series of streets [-113-] diverge like spokes from the nave of a wheel; and there is almost always the same crowd of "cads" and "do-nothings" loitering about the public-houses in this quarter, and waiting either for a job or a share of a gratuitous "quartern and three outs."
    Proceeding hence by the roadway that radiates in a north-easterly direction, we cross the vault-like bridge that spans the Regent's Canal, whose banks here bristle with a crowd of tall factory chimneys; and then, after passing a series of newly-built "genteel" suburban "terraces," the houses of which have each a little strip of garden, or rather grass-plot, in front of them, we see the viaduct of the railway stretching across the road, high above the pavement, and the tall signal posts, with their telegraphic arms, piercing the air. Immediately beyond this we behold a large new building walled all round, with a long series of mad-house-like windows, showing above the tall bricken boundary. In front of this, upon the raised bank beside the roadway, stands a remarkable portcullis-like gateway, jutting, like a huge square porch or palatial archway, from the main entrance of the building, and with a little square clock-tower just peeping up behind it.
    This is Pentonville Prison, vulgarly known as "the Model," and situate in the Caledonian Road, that stretches from Bagnigge Wells to Holloway.

¶ i-a.

The History and Architectural Details of the Prison.

    Before entering the prison, let us gather all we can concerning the history and character of the building.
    It is a somewhat curious coincidence, that the system of separate confinement which the Model Prison at Pentonville was built to carry out, was originally commenced at the House of Correction, at Gloucester, under the auspices of (among others) Sir George Onesiphorus Paul, the relative of one who is at present suffering imprisonment within its walls.
    This system of penal discipline was originally advocated by Sir William Blackstone and the great prison reformer, Howard; and though it was made the subject of an Act of Parliament in 1778, it was not put in practice till some few years afterwards, and even then the experiment at Gloucester "was not prosecuted," says the Government Reports, " so as to lead to any definite result.
    The subject of separate confinement, however, was afterwards warmly taken up at Philadelphia; "and the late Mr. Crawford," we are told, "was sent to America, in 1834, to examine into and report his opinion upon the mode of penal discipline as there established."
    On the presentation to Parliament of the very able papers drawn up by Mr. Crawford and Mr. Whitworth Russell, the Inspectors of the Prisons for the Home District, the subject came to be much discussed; and, in 1837, Lord John Russell, then Secretary of State for the Home Department, issued a circular to the magistracy, recommending the separate system of penal discipline to their consideration.
    Shortly after this it was determined to erect Pentonville Prison, as a preliminary step, for the purpose of practically testing this "separate" method of penal treatment, and the name originally applied to it was "the Model Prison, on the separate system," it being proposed to apply the plan, if successful, to the several jails throughout the kingdom.
    The building was commenced on the 10th of April, 1840, and completed in 1842, at a cost of about £85,000, after plans furnished by Lieut.-Col. Jebb, RE. It was first occupied in December of the latter year, and was appropriated, by direction of Sir James Graham, the Home Secretary at that period, to the reception of a selected body of convicts, who were [-114-] there to undergo a term of probationary discipline previous to their transportation to the colonies. Indeed, the letter which Sir James Graham addressed to the Commissioners who had been appointed to superintend the penal experiment, is so admirably illustrative of the objects aimed at in the institution of the prison at Pentonville, that we cannot do better than repeat it here.
    "Considering the excessive supply of labour in this country," says Sir James, "its consequent depreciation, and the fastidious rejection of all those whose character is tainted, I wish to admit no prisoner into Pentonville who is not sentenced to transportation, and who is not doomed to be transported; for the convict on whom such discipline might produce the most salutary effect would, when liberated and thrown back on society in this country, be still branded as a criminal, and have but an indifferent chance of a livelihood from the profitable exercise of honest industry I propose, therefore, that no prisoner shall be admitted into Pentonville without the knowledge that it is the portal to the penal colony, and without the certainty that he bids adieu to his connections in England, and that he must henceforth look forward to a life of labour in another hemisphere.
    "But from the day of his entrance into prison, while I extinguish the hope of return to his family and friends, I would open to him, fully and distinctly, the fate which awaits him, and the degree of influence which his own conduct will infallibly have over his future fortunes.
    "He should be made to feel that from that day he enters on a new career. He should be told that his imprisonment is a period of probation; that it will not be prolonged above eighteen months; that an opportunity of learning those arts which will enable him to earn his bread will be afforded under the best instructors; that moral and religious knowledge will be imparted to him as a guide to his future life; that at the end of eighteen months, when a just estimate can be formed of the effect produced by the discipline on his character, he will be sent to Van Diemen's Land; there, if he behave well, at once to receive a ticket- of-leave, which is equivalent to freedom, with a certainty of abundant maintenance - the fruit of industry.
    "If, however, he behave indifferently, he will, on being transported to Van Diemen's Land, receive a probationary pass, which will secure to him only a limited portion of his earnings, and impose certain galling restraints on his personal liberty.
    "If, on the other hand, he behave ill, and the discipline of the prison be ineffectual, he will be transported to Tasman's Peninsula, there to work in a probationary gang, without wages, and deprived of liberty - an abject convict."
    Now, for the due carrying out of these objects, a Board of Commissioners was appointed, among whom were two medical gentlemen of the highest reputation in their profession, and whose duty it was to watch narrowly the effect of the system upon the health of the prisoners.
    "Eighteen months of the discipline, said Sir James Graham, in his letter to these gentlemen, "appear to me to be ample for its full application. In that time the real character will be developed, instruction will be imparted, new habits will be formed, a better frame of mind will have been moulded, or else the heart will have been hardened, and the case be desperate. The period of imprisonment at Pentonville, therefore," he adds, "will be strictly limited to eighteen months."
    Thus we perceive that the Model Prison was intended to be a place of instruction and probation, rather than one of oppressive discipline, and was originally limited to adults only, between the ages of eighteen and thirty-five.
    From the year 1843 to 1848, with a slight exception on the opening of the establishment, the prisoners admitted into Pentonville were most carefully selected from the whole body of convicts. A change, however, in the class of prisoners was the cause of some adverse results in the year 1848, and in their Report for that year the Commissioners say- "We [-115-] are sorry that, as to the health and mental condition of the prisoners, we have to make a a much less satisfactory report than in any of the former years since the prison was established It may be difficult, they add, "to offer a certain explanation of the great number of cases of death and of insanity that have occurred within the last year. We have, however, reason to believe that in the earlier years of this institution, the convicts sent here were selected from a large number, and the selection was made with a more exclusive regard to their physical capacity for undergoing this species of punishment."
    Experience, then, appearing to indicate the necessity of some modification of the discipline at Pentonville, which, without any sacrifice of its efficiency, would render it more safe and more generally available to all classes of convicts, "Sir George Grey, we are told, "concurred in the opinion of Sir Benjamin Brodie and Dr. Ferguson, that the utmost watchfulness and discretion on the part of the governor, chaplain, and medical attendants would be requisite, in order to administer, with safety, the system established there.
    It being no longer necessary to continue the experiment upon prison discipline, which had been in full operation from 1843 to 1849, it was brought to a close, and the accommodation in Pentonville prison was thus rendered available for the general purposes of the convict service.
    Accordingly, the period of confinement in Pentonville Prison was first reduced from eighteen to twelve months, and subsequently to nine months. Nevertheless, at the commencement of 1852, says an official document, "there occurred an unusually large number of cases of mental affection among the prisoners, and it was therefore deemed necessary to increase the amount of exercise in the open air, and to introduce the plan of brisk walking, as pursued at Wakefield. The change, we are told, produced a most marked and beneficial effect upon the general health of the inmates. Indeed, so much so, that "in the course of the year following, there was," say the reports, "not one removal to Bedlam. *

* The number of removals from Pentonville to Bedlam, on the ground of insanity, as compared with the preceding years, was, in the year 1851, found to be- 
    27 in 10,000 from 1842-49
    32 in 10,000 from 1850
    16 in 10,000 from 1851
    16 in 10,000 from 1852
    0 in 10,000 from 1853
    10 in 10,000 from 1854
    20 in 10,000 from 1854 [sic, ed]

The above ratio, however, expresses only the proportion per 10,000 prisoners removed to Bedlam as insane, but the following table, which has been kindly furnished us by Mr. Bradley, the eminent medical officer of Pentonville prison, gives the proportion of cases of mental disease occurring annually, after first 10 years:-

    In 10 years, from 1843 to 1852 ... 120 per 10,000 prisoners.
    In 10 years, from 1843 to 1853 ... 60 per 10,000 prisoners.
    In 10 years, from 1843 to 1854 ... 38 per 10,000 prisoners.
    In 10 years, from 1843 to 1855 ... 59 per 10,000 prisoners.

Hence it would appear that the improved treatment of shortened term of separation, rapid exercise, and superior ventilation, has decreased the rate of insane cases to less than one-half what it was in the first 10 years. Still, much has to be done to bring the proportion down to the normal standard of all other prisons, which is only 5.8 per 10,000 prisoners. Vide p. 103 of GREAT WORLD OF LONDON.
    It is but just to state here that the Reports of the Commissioners, one and all, evince a marked consideration and anxiety for the health of the convicts placed under their care; and we are happy to have it in our power to add, that our own personal experience teaches us that none could possibly show a greater interest, sympathy, and kindness, for all "prisoners and captives," than the Surveyor-General of Prisons. It is a high satisfaction to find, when one comes to deal with prisons and prisoners, that almost every gentleman placed in authority over the convicts appears to be actuated by the most humane and kindly motives towards them. Nor do we, in saying thus much, judge merely from manner and external appearances. Our peculiar investigations throw us into communication with many a liberated convict, who has served his probationary term at the Model, and we can conscientiously aver, that we have never heard any speak but in the very highest terms, both of the Governor of Pentonville, the Chaplain, and the Surveyor-General himself.

[-116-] The ventilation was also improved by admitting the outer air direct to the cells, and the discipline was at once relaxed when any injury to health was apprehended. Farther, whenever there was reason to believe that a prisoner was likely to be injuriously affected by the discipline, he was, in conformity with the instructions of the directors, removed from strict separate confinement, and put to work in association with other prisoners.*

The total number withdrawn from separation in the year 1854 was 66, and 23 of these were put to work in association on mental grounds, consisting of cases in which men of low intellect began under separate confinement to exhibit mental excitement, depression, or irritability, whilst 12 more were removed to public works before the expiration of their term of separate confinement, because they were, in the words of the medical officer, "likely to be injuriously affected by the discipline of the prison." By a summary of a list of the cases requiring medical treatment-as given in the Medical Officer's Report for 1855-we find, that of the diseases, 35.9 per cent. Consist of constipation, and  16.5 per cent, of dyspepsia-the other affections being catarrhs, of which the proportion is 20.7 per cent.,and diarrhoea 100 per cent., whilst the remaining 16.9 per cent. was made up of a variety of trivial and anomalous cases.

    Such, then, is the history of the institution, and the reasons for the changes connected with the discipline, of Pentonville Prison.
    As regards the details of the building itself, the following are the technical particulars:- The prison occupies an area of 6¾ acres. It has "a curtain wall with massive posterns in front," where, as we have said, stands a large entrance gateway, the latter designed by Barry, whose arches are filled with portcullis work; whilst from the main building rises an "Italian" clock-tower. From the central corridor within radiate four wings, constructed after the fashion of spokes to a half-wheel, and one long entrance hall, leading to the central point. The interior of each of the four wings or "corridors" is fitted with 130 cells, arranged in thee "galleries" or storeys, one above the other, and each floor contains some forty-odd apartments for separate confinement.

    Every cell is 13½ feet long by 7½ feet broad, and 9 feet high, and contains an earthenware water-closet, and copper wash-basin, supplied with water; a three-legged stool, table, and shaded gas-burner-besides a hammock for slinging at night, furnished with mattress and [-117-] blankets. In the door of every cell is an eyelet-hole, through which the officer on duty may observe what is going on within from without. Each of the cells is said to have cost, on an average, upwards of £150.
    The building is heated by hot water on the basement, and the ventilation is maintained by an immense shaft in the roof of each wing. The prison has also a chapel on the separate system, fitted with some four hundred distinct stalls or sittings, for the prisoners, and so arranged that the officers on duty, during divine service, may have each man under their surveillance. There are also exercising yards for single prisoners, between each of the radiating wings, and two larger yards-one on either side of the entrance-hall-for exercising large bodies of the prisoners collectively.
    Moreover, there are artesian wells for supplying the prison with water, and a gas-factory for lighting the building. Indeed, the prison is constructed and fitted according to all the refinements of modern science, and complete in all its app1iances.*

* On March the 13th, 1856, there were 368 prisoners confined here; and these were thus distributed over the building:-

Corridor A	No.1 Ward 24 prisoners No.2 Ward 27 prisoners No.3 Ward 42a prisoners	93	Corridor C	No.1 Ward 26 prisoners No.2 Ward 21 prisoners No.3 Ward 38 prisoners	85
Corridor B	No.1 Ward 26a prisoners No.2 Ward 22 prisoners No.3 Ward 32 prisoners	80	Corridor D	No.1 Ward 20b prisoners No.2 Ward 40a prisoners No.3 Ward 21aa prisoners No.4 Ward 29 prisoners	110
					368

The letter a affixed to some of the numbers above given, signifies that one man, and aa, two men, out of that ward were confined in the refractory cells; and b that there was one from that part of the building sick in the infirmary-ward. D 4 is the associated ward, and at the basement of the southern part of the building.
    The following table gives a statement of the number of prisoners received and sent away in the course of a year:- 

NUMBER AND DISPOSAL OF PRISONERS AT PENTONVILLE PRISON DURING THE YEAR 1854

Remaining 31st December, 1853	489	Pardoned free	1
Admitting during the year 1854	436	" conditional	3
	925	" on medical grounds	1
These 925 prisoners were disposed of as follows:-		" on licence	37
Transferred to Portland Prison	193	Died	8
Transferred to Portsmouth	120	Suicide	1
Transferred to Dartmoor	20		387
Transferred to "Stirling Castle" Hulk	2	Remaining 31st December	538
Transferred to Bethlehem Hospital (insane)	1		925
Of the 436 admitted during 1854, the following is a statement of the ages:-
3 were under the age of	17 years	13 were between the age of	45 and 50 years
243 were between	17 and 25 years	6 were between the age of	50 and 55 years
79 were between	25 and 30 years	2 were between the age of	55 and 60 years
51 were between	30 and 35 years	436
28 were between	35 and 40 years	Proportion of prisoners between 17 and 25 years, 55.7
11 were between	40 and 45 years

¶ i-B.

The Interior of Pentonville Prison.

Artists and Poets clamour loudly about "ideals," but these same artistic and poetic idealities are, in most cases, utterly unlike the realities of life, being usually images begotten by narrow sentiments rather than the abstract results of large observation; for idealization is - or at least should be - in matters of art what generalization is in science, since a pictorial "type" is but the esthetic equivalent of a natural "order;" and as the "genus" in philosophy should express merely the point of agreement among a number of diverse phenomena, even so that graphic essence which is termed "character" should represent the peculiar form common to a variety of visible things.
    We remember once seeing an engraving that was intended for an ideal portrait of the common hangman, in which the hair was of the approved convict cut, with a small villainous valance left dangling in front - the forehead as low as an ape's - the brow repulsively beetled and overhanging as eaves, whilst the sunken eyes were like miniature embrasures pregnant with their black artillery. And yet, when we made the acquaintance of Calcraft, we found him bearing the impress of no such monster, but rather so "respectable" in his appearance, that on first beholding a gentleman in a broad brimmed hat and bushy iron gray hair, seated at the little table in the lobby of Newgate, with his hands, too, resting on the knob of his Malacca cane, we mistook him for some dissenting minister, who had come to offer consolation to one of the wretched inmates. Nor could we help mentally contrasting the loathsome artistic ideality with the almost humane-looking reality before us.
    The same violence, too, is done to our preconceived notions by the first sight of the jailer of the present day. The ideal leads us to picture such a functionary in our minds as a kind of human Cerberus - a creature that looks as surly and sullen as an officer of the Inquisition, and with a bunch of huge keys fastened to his waist, whose jangle, as he moves, reminds one of the clink of fetters. The reality, however, proves on acquaintance to be generally a gentleman with a half military air, who, so far from being characterized by any of the vulgar notions of the stern and cruel-minded prison-keeper, is usually marked by an almost tender consideration for those placed under his charge, and who is certainly prompted by the same desire that distinguishes all better-class people now-a-days, to ameliorate the condition of their unfortunate fellows
    At Pentonville, the same mental conflict between vulgar preconceptions and strange matter of fact ensues; for the prison there is utterly unlike all our imaginary pictures of prisons - the governor a kind-hearted gentleman, rather than approaching to the fanciful type of the unfeeling jailer - and the turnkeys a kind of mixture between policemen and military officers in undress, instead of the ferocious-looking prison-officials ordinarily represented on the stage.
    No sooner is the prison door opened in answer to our summons at the hell, than we might believe we were inside some little park lodge, so tidy and cozy and unjail-like is the place; and here is the same capacious hooded chair, like the head of a gigantic cradle that is usually found in the hail of large mansions.
    The officer, as he holds back the portal, and listens to our inquiry as to whether the Governor be visible, raises his hand to his glazed military cap, and salutes us soldier-fashion, as he replies briskly, "Yessir."
    Having produced our Government order, to allow us to inspect the prison, we are ushered across a small paved court-yard, and then up a broad flight of stone steps to the large glass door that admits us to the passage leading to the prison itself. The officer who accompanies us is habited in a single-breasted, policeman-like, frock coat, with a bright brass crown bulging from its stiff, stand-up collar, and round his waist he wears a broad leathern strap, with a shiny cartouche-box behind, in which he carries his keys. These keys are now withdrawn, and the semi-glass door - that is so utterly unlike the gloomy and ponderous prison portal of olden times - is thrown back for us to pass through.
    We are then at the end of a long and broad passage, which is more like the lengthy hail to some Government office, than the entrance to an old-fashioned jail, and at the opposite extremity we can just see, through the windows of the other door there, figures flitting backwards and forwards in the bright light of what we afterwards learn is the "centre corridor" of the building.
    [-119-] The first thing that strikes the mind on entering the prison passage, is the wondrous and perfectly Dutch-like cleanliness pervading the place. The floor, which is of asphalte, has been polished, by continual sweeping, so bright that we can hardly believe it has not been black-leaded, and so utterly free from dust are all the mouldings of the trim stucco walls, that we would defy the sharpest housewife to get as much off upon her fingers as she could brush even from a butterfly's wing.
    In no private house is it possible to see the like of this dainty cleanliness, and as we walk along the passage we cannot help wondering why it is that we should find the perfection of the domestic virtue in such an abiding-place.
    We are shown into a small waiting-room on one side of the passage, while the officer goes to apprise the governor of our presence; and here we have to enter our name in a book, and specify the date, as well as by whose permission we have come. Here, too, we find the same scrupulous tidiness, and utter freedom from dirt-the stove being as lustrous, from its frequent coats of "black-lead," as if it had been newly carved out of solid plumbago.
    A few minutes afterwards, we are handed over to a warder, who receives instructions to accompany us round the prison; and then, being conducted through the glass door at the other end of the passage, we stand, for the first time, in the "centre corridor" of the "Model Prison."
    
    To conceive the peculiar character of this building, the reader must imagine four long "wings," or "corridors," as they are officially styled, radiating from a centre, like the spokes in a half-wheel; or, what is better, a series of light and lofty tunnels, all diverging from one point, after the manner of the prongs in an open fan. Indeed, when we first entered the inner part of the prison, the lengthy and high corridors, with their sky-light [-120-] roofs, seemed to us like a bunch of Burlington Arcades, that had been fitted up in the style of the opera-box lobbies, with an infinity of little doors-these same doors being ranged, not only one after another, but one above another, three storeys high, till the walls of the arcades were pierced as thick with them as the tall and lengthy sides of a man-of-war with its hundred port-holes.
    Then there are narrow iron galleries stretching along in front of each of the upper floors, after the manner of lengthy balconies, and reaching from one end of the arcades to the other, whilst these are so light in their construction, that in the extreme length of the several wings they look almost like ledges jutting from the walls.
    Half-way down each corridor, too, there is seen, high in the air, a light bridge, similar to the one joining the paddle-boxes on board a steamer, connecting the galleries on either side of every floor.
    Nevertheless, it is not the long, arcade-like corridors, nor the opera-lobby-like series of doors, nor the lengthy balconies stretching along each gallery, nor the paddle-box-like bridges connecting the opposite sides of the arcade, that constitute the peculiar character of Pentonville prison. Its distinctive feature, on the contrary-the one that renders it utterly dissimilar from all other jails- is the extremely bright, and cheerful, and airy quality of the building; so that, with its long, light corridors, it strikes the mind, on first entering it, as a bit of the Crystal Palace, stripped of all its contents. There is none of the gloom, nor dungeon- like character of a jail appertaining to it; nor are there bolts and heavy locks to grate upon the ear at every turn; whilst even the windows are destitute of the proverbial prison-bars - the frames of these being made of iron, and the panes so small that they serve at once as safeguards and sashes.
    Moreover, so admirably is the ventilation of the building contrived and kept up, that there is not the least sense of closeness pervading it, for we feel, immediately we set foot in the place, how fresh and pure is the atmosphere there; and that, at least, in that prison, no wretched captive can sigh to breathe the "free air of Heaven," since in the open country itself it could not be less stagnant than in the "model" jail - even though there be, as at the time of our visit, upwards of 400 men confined day and night - sleeping, breathing, and performing all the functions of nature in their 400 separate cells throughout the place.
    The cells distributed throughout this magnificent building are about the size of the interior of a large and roomy omnibus, but some feet higher, and they seem to those who are not doomed to dwell in them - apart from all the world without-really comfortable apartments. In such, however, as contain a loom (and a large number of the cells on the ground-floor are fitted with those instruments), there is not a superabundance of spare room. Nevertheless, there is sufficient capacity, as well as light, in each, to make the place seem to a free man a light, airy, and cheerful abode. Against the wall, on one side, is set the bright, copper hand-basin - not unlike a big funnel - with a tap of water immediately above it; at the extreme end of the cell is the small closet, well supplied with water-pipes; and in another part you see the shaded gas-jet, whilst in one of the corners by the door are some two or three triangular shelves, where the prisoner's spoon, platter, mug, and soap-box, &c., are stowed. On the upper of these shelves, the rolled-up hammock, with its bedding, stands on end, like a huge muff, and let into the wall on either side, some three feet from the ground, are two large bright eyelet holes, to which the hammock is slung at night, as shown in the engraving. Then there is a little table and stool, and occasionally on the former may be found some brown paper-covered book or periodical, with which the prisoner has been supplied from the prison library. In one cell which we entered, while the men were at exercise in the yard, we found a copy of "OLD HUMPHREY'S THOUGHTS" and in another, a recent number of " CHAMBER'S EDINBURGH JOURNAL" left open on the table. Moreover, hanging against the wall is a pasteboard bill, headed, "NOTICE TO CONVICTS", and the "RULES AND REGULATIONS" of the prison, as well as the little card inscribed with the prisoner's "registered number" (for in Pentonville prison all names cease), and citing not only his previous occupation, but term [-121-] of sentence, date of conviction, &c. Further, there is, in the corner near the cupboard, a button, which, on being turned, causes a small gong to be struck in the corridor without, and at the same moment makes a metal plate or "index outside the door start out at right angles to the wall, so that the warder, when summoned by the bell, may know which prisoner has rung.
    On this index is painted the number of the cell, and as you walk along the corridors you observe, not only a large black letter painted at the entrance of each arcade, but a series of these same indices, each inscribed with a different number, and (except where the gong has been recently sounded) flat against the wall beside the door. Now these letters on the corridors, as well as the indices beside the doors, are used not only to express the position of the cell, but, strange to say, the name of the prisoner confined within it; for here, as we said, men have no longer Christian and surnames to distinguish them one from the other, but are called merely after the position of cell they occupy. Hence, no matter what the appellation of a man may have been-or even whether he bore a noble title before entering the prison-immediately he comes as a convict within its precincts, he is from that time known as D 3, 4, or B 2, 10, as the case may be, and wears at his breast a charity-boy-like brass badge so inscribed, to mark him from the rest. Thus he is no longer James This, or Mr. That, or even Sir John So-and-so, but simply the prisoner confined in corridor D, gallery 3, and cell 4, or else the one in corridor B, gallery 2, and cell 10; so that instead of addressing prisoners here as Brown, Jones, and Robinson, the warder in whose gallery and corridor those convicts may happen to be calls them, for brevity sake, simply and individually by the number of the cells they occupy in his part of the building. Accordingly the officer on duty may occasionally be heard to cry to some one of the prisoners under his charge, "Now step out there 4, will you?" or, "Turn out here, Number 6." *

* The following is a list of the several officers of Pentonville Prison in the year 1856:-

Name	Rank
Robert Husking	Governor
Rev. Joseph Kingsmill	Chaplain
Ambrose Sherwin	Assistant do.
Charles L. Bradley	Medical Officer

William H. Foster	Steward and Manufactuer
Alfred P. Nantes	Governor's Clerk
Angus Macpherson	Accountant Clerk
Edward Tottenham	Steward's Clerk
Robert Yellsly	Assistant do.
Thomas Carr	Manufacturer's Clerk
James Maya	Assistant do.
John Wilson	Schoolmaster
Charles Gregg	Assistant do.
Edward J. Hoare	Do. and Organist
Terence Nulty	Chief Warder
John Jenkins	Principal Warder
David Adamson	Ditto
John Smart	Warder
William Wood	"
Adam Corrie	"
William Keating	"
Senthil Lindsay	"
David Darling	"
Michael Laffan	"
Robert Green	"
John Snellgrove	"
Edward Edwards	"
James Snowball	Assistant Warder
Richard Wilcocks	"
Peter Cameron	"
John Whitehurst	"
John Donegan	Assistant Warder
James Hampton	"
Joseph Matthews	Warder Instructor
John Baptie	"
Thomas Hirst	"
John Armstrong	"
John Fitzgerald	"
Martin Burke	"
Amos Driver	"
William Callway	Assist. Warder Instructor
John White	"
Edward Bevan	"
Thomas Charlesworth	"
Samuel Whitley	"
Arthur Keenan	Infirmary Warder
William Matthis	Gate Porter
George Larkin	Inner Gate Porter
Thomas R. Yeates	Messenger
Thomas Rogers	Foreman of Works
Stephen Oatley	Plumber
Robert Lyon	Gasmaker
Charles Poole	Assistant ditto.
John Pride	Engine-man
Edward Gannon	Stoker
Matthew Yates	Steward's Porter
William Butler	Manufacturer's Porter
Griffin Crannis	Carter
John Beckley	Cook
John Cladingbowl	Baker

[-122-]

¶ iii-c[gamma in original, ed.]

A Work-Day at Pentonville.

    To understand the "routine" of Pentonville Prison, it is necessary to spend one entire long day in the establishment, from the very opening to the closing of the prison; and if there be any convicts leaving for the public works, as on the day we chose for our visit, the stranger must be prepared to stay at least eighteen hours within the walls. Nor, to our mind, can time be more interestingly passed.
    The stars were still shining coldly in the silver gray sky on the morning when we left our home to witness the departure of some thirty-odd prisoners from Pentonville for Portsmouth. We were anxious to discover with what feelings the poor wretches, who had spent their nine months at the Model, excluded from all intercourse but that of prison officers, would look forward to their liberation from separate confinement; and though we had been informed over-night that the "batch" was to leave as early as a quarter past 5 am., we did not regret having to turn out into the streets, with the cold March morning winds blowing so sharp in the face as to fill the eyes with tears.
    As we slammed our door after us, the deserted street seemed to tremble as it echoed again with the noise. On the opposite side of the way, the policeman, in his long great coat, was busy throwing the light of his bull's-eye upon the doors and parlour windows, and down into the areas, as he passed on his rounds, making the dark walls flicker with the glare as if a Jack-a-Dandy had been cast upon them, and, startled by the sound, he turned suddenly round to direct his lantern towards us as if he really took us for one of the burglarious characters we were about to visit.
    The cabmen at the nearest stand were asleep inside their rickety old broughams, and as we turned into Tottenham Court Road we encountered the early street coffee-stall keeper with his large coffee-cans dangling from either end of a yoke across his shoulders, and the red fire shining through the holes of the fire-pan beneath like spots of crimson foil.
    Then, as we hurried on, we passed here and there a butcher's light "chay-cart" with the name painted on the side, hurrying off to the early meat-markets, and the men huddled in the bottom of the vehicle, behind the driver with their coat-collars turned up, and dozing as they went. Next came some tall and stalwart brewer's drayman (they are always the first in the streets), in his dirty drab flushing jacket, and leathern leggings, hastening towards the brewery; and, at some long distance after him, we met an old ragged crone, tottering on her way to the Farringdon water-cress market with her "shallow under her arm, and her old rusty frayed shawl drawn tight round her; whilst here and there we should see a stray bone-grubber, or "pure finder," in his shiny grimy tatters, "routing" among the precious muck-heaps for rich rags and valuable refuse.
    Strange and almost fearful was the silence of the streets, at that hour! So still, indeed, were they that we could hear the heavy single knock, followed by the shrill cry of the chimney-sweep, echoing through the desolate thoroughfares, as he waited at some door hard by and shrieked, "Swe-e--eep!" to rouse the sleeping cook-maid. Then every foot-fail seemed to tell upon the pavement like the tramp of the night-police, and we could hear the early workmen trudging away, long before we saw them coming towards us, some with their basin of food for the day done up in a handkerchief, and dangling from their hand-and others like the smoky and unwashed smiths with an old nut-basket full of tools slung over their shoulder upon the head of a hammer-the bricklayer with his large wooden level and coarse nailbag full of trowels hanging at his back-and the carpenter on his way to some new suburban building in his flannel jacket and rolled-up apron, and with the end of his saw and jack-plane peeping from his tool-basket behind; while here and there, as we got into the [-123-] neighbourhood of King's Cross, we should pass some railway guard or porter on his way to the terminus for the early trains.
    While jogging along in the darkness - for still there was not a gleam of daybreak visible - we could not help thinking, what would the wretched creatures we were about to visit not give to be allowed one half-hour's walk through those cold and gloomy streets, and how beautiful one such stroll in the London thoroughfares would appear to them-beautiful as quitting the house, after a long sickness, is to us.
    Nor could we help, at the same time, speculating as to the perversity of the natures that, despite all the long privations of jail, and the severe trial of separate confinement, would, nevertheless, many of them, as we knew, return to their former practices immediately they were liberated. Granted, said we to ourselves (forgetting, in our reveries, to continue our observations of the passing objects), that some would be honest if society would but cease to persecute them for their former crimes. Still many, we were aware, were utterly incapable of reformation, for figures prove to us that there is a certain per centage among the criminal class who are absolutely incorrigible. Nevertheless, the very fact of there being such a per centage, and this same perversity of nature being reducible to a law, seemed to us to rank it like lunacy, among the inscrutable decrees of the All-Wise, and thus to temper our indignation with pity. Then we could not help thinking of the tearful homes that these wretched people had left outside their prison walls, for, hardened as we may fancy them, they and theirs are marked by the same love of kindred as ourselves-such love, indeed, being often the only channel left open to their heart; and, moreover, how sorely, in punishing the guilty, we are compelled to punish the innocent also.*

* As a proof that no "morbid sentimentality" gave rise to the above remarks, we will quote the following letter as one among many that it is our lot to receive:-

"March 24th, 1856.

    "SIR,-An anxious mother, who has an unfortunate son now about to be liberated from the convict prison, Portsmouth, is very desirous of obtaining an interview with you on his behalf, and would feel truly grateful for such a favour.-.From your most obedient and humble servant,

"A.S."

    Here is another illustration of the fact, that one guilty man's misery involves that of many innocent people

"March 19th, 1845.

"SIR,-I am a poor, unfortunate, characterless man, who have returned from jail, with a desire to earn an honest living for the future, and I make bold to write to you, begging your kind assistance in my present distress.
    "I left the House of Correction on Wednesday last, 12th inst., after an incarceration of six calendar months, to which I was sentenced for obtaining money by means of representing myself as a solicitor, and to which offence I pleaded guilty. My prosecutors, finding that I was induced to commit myself through poverty, would gladly have withdrawn from the case, but could not, being bound over.
    "Coming home, I found a wife and five children depending upon me for support-the parish having at once stopped the relief, and the army work (at which they earned a few shillings) having fallen off altogether; therefore I am in a most distressed position, not having clothes out of pledge to go after employment in, or I doubt not but that I could get employment, as I have a friend who would become surety for me in a situation.
    "If, therefore, you can render me any assistance, you will indeed confer a favour on, Sir, your very obedient servant,

"J. B."

    We were suddenly aroused from our reverie by the scream of the early goods' train, and presently the long line of railway wagons came rattling and rumbling across the viaduct over the street, the clouds of steam from the engine seeming almost an iron gray colour in the darkness.
    The next minute we were at the Model Prison, Pentonville; but as the warders were not yet assembled outside the gate, and we saw bright lines of light shining through the cracks over and under the door of one of the neighbouring shops, we made bold to knock and claim a short shelter there.
    [-124-] It happened to be a coffee-shop. We found the little room in a thick fog of smoke from the newly-lighted fire, and the proprietor busy making the morning's supply of the "best Mocha "-possible, at a penny a cup.
    We had not long to wait, for presently the shopkeeper apprised us that the warders were beginning to assemble; and truly, on reaching the gateway once more, we found a group of some two dozen officers waiting to be admitted to the prison.
    Presently the outer door was opened, when the warders passed into the court-yard and stood upon the broad flight of steps, in a group round the glass door leading to the entrance- hail. Here they reckoned among themselves as to whether they were all assembled, and finding that one or two were wanting, the rest looked up at the clock and said, "Oh, it wants five minutes to the quarter yet."
    "They are safe to be here," said one to us, privately; "for there's a heavy fine if a man isn't true to his time2. Sure enough, the next moment the two missing warders entered the yard, and the glass door being opened, we all proceeded, in company with one of the principal warders - marked by the gold lace band round his cap - into a small room on the left-hand side of the passage.
    "The chief warder sleeps here, sir," said the officer whom the governor had kindly directed to attend us through the day, and to instruct us upon all the details of the prison.
    There was no sign of bed in the room, and the only indication we had that the chief officer had passed the night in the building was, that he was in the act of slipping on his coat as we entered the apartment.
    A large iron safe, let into the wall of this room, was now unlocked, and a covered tray, or drawer, that was not unlike an immense wooden portable desk, was withdrawn and carried into the lobby, while the contents jangled so loudly with the motion, that it was not difficult to surmise that in it the officers' keys were kept. Here it was placed upon a chair, and, when opened, revealed some twenty-eight bunches of large keys hanging upon as many different hooks.
    These were distributed by one o~ the principal warders to the several officers throughout the building, and this done, we were once more conducted into the interior of the prison, where we found the gas still burning in the corridors and the lights shining on the polished asphalte floors, in long luminous lines, like the lamps in the streets reflected upon the pavement on a wet night.
    The blue light of early dawn was now just beginning to show through the skylights of the long arcades, but hardly had we noticed the cold azure look of the coming day, contrasting, as it did, with the warm yellow light of the gas within, than the corridors began to hum again with the booming of the clock-tower bell, ringing, as usual, at half-past five, to call the officials.
    We walked with the warder down the several corridors, and, as we did so, the officers on duty proceeded to carry the bread and cocoa round to the prisoners who were about to leave that morning for the public works at Portsmouth. And then the halls rang, now with the rattling of the trucks on which the breakfast was being wheeled from cell to cell, and now with the opening and shutting of the little trap in each cell-door, through which the food was given to the prisoner within; the rapid succession of the noises telling you how briskly and dexterously the work was done.
    "You see those clothes, and tables, and chairs outside the cell-doors, there?" said the warder, as he led us along the corridors; "they belong to men who have attempted to break out of other prisons, so we leave them nothing but their bed and bare walls for the night. Now there, at that door, you perceive, are merely the clothes, and shoes, and tools of the prisoner within; he's one of the bricklayers who has worked out in the grounds, so we trust such as him with nothing but the flannel drawers they sleep in from nine at night till sax in the morning. Oh, yes, sir! we are obliged to be very particular here, for the men have [-125-] tools given them to work with, and therefore we make them put all such articles outside their cell-doors just before they go to bed; but when a man is a notoriously desperate prison- breaker, we don't even allow him so much as a tin can for his soup, for we know that, if we did so, he would probably convert the wire round the rim into a pick-lock, to open his door. Yes, sir, convicts are mostly very ingenious at such things."

    By this time we had reached the end of the ward, where stood a small counting-house- like desk, partitioned off from the other part of the corridor.
    "This is the warders' office," our informant continued, "and the clock you see there, in front of it, is the 'tell-tale.' There is one such in each ward. It has, you observe, a number of pegs, one at every quarter of an hour, projecting like cogs from round the edge of the dial- plate, which is here made to revolve instead of the hands. At the side, you perceive, there's a string for pulling down the small metal tongue that stands just over the top peg, and the consequence is, that unless the officer who is on duty in the night comes here on his rounds precisely at the moment when that top peg should be pushed down, it will have passed from under the tongue, and stand up as a register of neglect of duty against him. There are a number of these clocks throughout the prison, and the warders have to pull some of the pegs at the quarters, some at the half-hours, and others at the hours. They are all set by the large time-piece in the centre, and so as just to allow the officer to go from one ward to the other.
    "If a man's bell rings in the night?" asked we.
    "Why," was the ready answer, "the trap of his cell-door is let down, and the officer on duty thrusts in a bull's-eye lantern so as to see what is the matter; the prisoner makes his complaint, and, if sick, the chief warder is called, who orders, if he thinks it necessary, the infirmary warder to come to him. There are four warders on duty every night, from ten till six the next morning, and each of the four has to keep two hours' watch.

*_** Departure of Convicts.-Scarcely had our attendant finished his account of the night duties, when a large town-crier's bell clattered through the building. This was the quarter- to-six summons to wake the prisoners; and, five minutes afterwards, the bell was rung again, to call the officers a second time.
    The chief warder now took up his station in the centre corridor, and saying to the officer near him, "Turn down!" the big brass bell once more rattled in the ears, whereupon a stream of brown-clad convicts came pouring from out their cells, and marched at a rapid pace along the northern corridor (A) towards the centre of the building. These were some of the prisoners who were about to leave for the public works at Portsmouth. The smiles upon their faces said as much.
    "Fall in!" cried the chief warder, and in a moment the whole of the men drew themselves up, like soldiers, in a line across the centre corridor, each holding his registry-card close up at his breast; but now the deep cloth peaks to their prison caps were bent up, and no longer served as a mask to the face.
    Hardly was this over before another brown gang of prisoners hastened from the southern corridor (D), and drew themselves briskly up in the rear of the others.
    Then the chief warder proceeded to call over the registered number and name of each convict, whilst one of the principals stood by to check the card as the name was cried out; and directly this was finished, the gang was made to "face" and march, through the glass doors, into the entrance hall.
    Here they were drawn up on one side of the passage; then an officer cried, in a military tone, "Turn up your right-hand cuffs, all of you!" and thereupon the warders proceeded to fasten round each of their wrists one of the bright steel handcuffs that were ranged upon a little table in the lobby. This done, a stout steel chain was reaved through each of the eyelet [-126-] holes attached to the cuffs, and some ten or a dozen of the prisoners thus strung together. When the first detachment was chained to each other, another half-score went through the same operation, whilst the previous string of prisoners moved down towards the end of the passage, each pulling a different way, like coupled hounds, and the chain grating as they dragged one another along.
    We followed the wretched fellows to the door, to watch the expression of their faces when they beheld the three omnibuses waiting in the court-yard to carry them to the Terminus of the South-Western Railway. As the men stood ranged along the passage beside the doorway, many of them craned their necks forward to get a peep at the vehicles without, smiling again as they beheld them.
    "Yes, sir, they like it well enough," said our attendant, who was still at our elbow; "it's a great change for them-a great change-after being nine months in one place."
    "Are you pleased to go away, my man?" said we, to the one nearest the door.
    "Oh, yes!" replied he, in a country accent. He had been convicted of sheep-stealing, and the agricultural class of convicts, the prison authorities all agree, is the best disposed of the men who come under their charge. As the prisoner spake the words, we could see his very eyes twinkle again at the prospect of another peep at the fields.
    "What have you got there?" cried an officer, in a commanding tone, to one of the gang, who had a bundle of something tied in a handkerchief.
    "They're books, sir; hymn-hooks and tracts that the chaplain has allowed me to have," replied the prisoner in a meek tone.
    "That man yonder," whispered a warder to us, "two off from the one with the books, has passed thirty-eight years of his life in prison, and he's only forty-seven years old."
    "Remember, men," said the chief warder, addressing the prisoners before they passed into the court-yard, "the officer who goes with you has power to speak well of you; and the first thing that will be asked of him at Portsmouth will be, 'How have the men behaved on the way down?' So do you all take care and have a good character from him, for it will serve you where you're going."
   "Now, warder Corrie!" the chief officer adds to the warder on duty; and instantly the doors are unlocked, and the three strings of prisoners are let out into the court-yard, one after the other-the foremost man of each dragging at the chain to pull the others after him, and those in the rear holding back so as to prevent their wrists being suddenly jerked forwards, while the iron links almost crackle again as they reave to and fro.
    The omnibuses waiting in the court-yard were the ordinary public vehicles, such as one sees, every day, streaming through the streets to the Bank; and perched high on the little coach-box sat the usual seedy and would-be "fast"-looking driver, whilst beside the door, instead of the customary placard of "6d. all the way," was pasted on each carriage a large sheet of paper, inscribed either 1, 2, or 3, for the occasion.
    The prisoners went scrambling up the steps of the vehicles, dragging at the chain as before, while the officers in attendance cried to those
who hung back to keep off the strain- "Come, move on there behind-will you?"
    `When the omnibuses were filled with their ten or twelve prisoners, an officer entered each, and seated himself near the doorway, whereupon the chief warder proceeded to the steps of the vehicles one after another, and asked- Now, warder, how many men have you go?" "Ten!" was shouted, in reply, from the interior of one carriage, and "Twelve!" from another. After which one of the principal warders-distinguished by the gold-lace band round his cap-mounted the box of the first, and sat down beside the driver.
    "He goes with them, sir, to clear the bridges," whispered our attendant; and scarcely had he spoken the words before there was a cry of "All right !-go on!" and instantly the huge, massive gates that open out upon the stately porch in front of the prison were thrown back, and we could see the light of early morning glittering through the squares of the port-[-127-]cullis without. Then the stones clattered with the patter of the iron hoofs and rumble of the wheels; and one could observe the heads of the prisoners all in motion within the vehicle - some looking through the doorway back upon the prison, and others peeping through the windows at the comparatively new scene outside the walls.
    And, it must be confessed, there was not one tearful eye to be noted among that unfortunate convict troop; on the contrary, every check was puckered with smiles at the sense that they were bidding adieu to the place of their long isolation from the world.

*_** We would cheerfully, had it been possible, have travelled with the prisoners to their destination at Portsmouth; for, to the student of human nature, it would have been a high lesson to hare seen the sudden delight beam in every face as the omnibus passed by some familiar scene, or, may-be, the dwellings of their friends or kindred, by the way; and, as the railway train darted with them through the country, to have watched the various emotions play in their countenances as they beheld once more the green fields, and river, and the hills and woods, and envied, perhaps, the very sheep and cattle grazing at liberty upon the plains.
    "Still," said we to ourselves, as we mused mournfully after the departure of the convict vehicles, "the reality doubtlessly would be wholly unlike our preconceptions of the scene;" for with such men as those we had watched away there is often a mere vacuity of mind - a kind of waking dreaminess - a mental and moral anaesthesia, as it were, that renders them insensible to the more delicate impressions of human nature, so that the beauties of the outer, and indeed inner, world are almost wasted upon them, and it becomes half sentimentalism to imagine that their duller brains would be moved in the same manner as our own. Nevertheless, we must not, on the other hand, believe this class of people to be utterly callous to every tender tie, or indeed the ruder physical pleasures of external life. We ourselves have seen a body of such beings melted to tears as the chaplain touched feelingly upon their separation from their families; and they would be little removed from polypes - mere living stomachs - if after nine long months' entombment, as it were, in separate cells, they did not feel, upon going back into the world of light and colour, almost the same strange thrill tingling through their veins as moved Lazarus himself when summoned by the trumpet-tongue of Christ from out his very grave.
    Some there are, however, who think and speak of these wretched men as very dogs - creatures fit only, as one of our modern philosophers has preached, to be shot down and swept into the dust-bin. But surely even he who has seen a dog, after it has been chained night and day close to its kennel, and rendered dangerously furious by the continual chafing of its collar, burst off with a spasmodic energy in every limb directly it was let loose, and go bounding along and springing into the air, as it wheeled round and round, gasping and panting the while, as if it could not sufficiently feel and taste the exquisite delight of its freedom-he who, we say, has watched such a scene, must have possessed a nature as callous even as the wretched convicts themselves, could he have witnessed them pass out of those prison gates into the outward world without feeling the hot tears stinging his eyes, and without uttering in his heart a faint "God speed you."
    How is it possible for you, or ourselves, reader, to make out to our imaginations the terrors of separate confinement? How can we, whose lives are blessed with continual liberty, and upon whose will there is scarcely any restraint - we, who can live among those we lore, and move where we list - we, to whom the wide world, with its infinite beauties of sunshine and tint, and form, and air, and odour, and even sound, are a perpetual fountain of health and joy; how, we say, can we possibly comprehend what intense misery it is to be cut off from all such enjoyments - to have our lives hemmed in by four white blank walls - to see no faces but those of task-masters - to hear no voice but that of commanding officers - to be denied all exercise of will whatever - and to be converted into mere living automata, forced to do the bidding of others?
    [-128-] If you have ever lain on a sick-bed, day after day and week after week, till you knew every speck and tiny crack of the walls that surrounded you-if you have seen the golden lustre of the spring sun shining without, and heard the voices of the birds- telling their love of liberty in a very spasm, as it were, of melody, and then felt the unquenchable thirst that comes upon the soul to be out in the open air; and if you remember the grateful joy you have experienced at such times to have friends and relations near you to comfort and relieve your sufferings, not only by their love and care, but by reading to you the thoughts or fancies of the wisest and kindest minds, then you may perhaps be able to appreciate the subtle agony that must be endured by men in separate confinement - men, too, who are perhaps the most self- willed of all God's creatures, and consequently likely to feel any restraint tenfold more irksome than we; and men whose untutored minds are incapable of knowing the charms of intellectual culture or occupation; and who, therefore, can only fret and chafe under their terrible imprisonment, even as the tameless hyaena may be seen at the beast-garden for ever fretting and chafing in its cage.

    *_** Cleaning the Prison.-It was now only six o'clock, and as we returned from the court-yard to the corridors, we heard the chief warder cry, "Unlock!" and instantly the officers attached to the different wards proceeded to pass rapidly from cell-door to cell-door, with their keys in their hands, turning the locks as they went, and the noise resounding throughout the long and echoing corridors like the click of so many musket-triggers. Then the doors began to bang, and the metal pail-bandies to jangle, till the very prison seemed suddenly roused out of its silent sleep into busy life.
    As we passed up and down the wards, we saw the prisoners in their flannel drawers come to the door to take in their clothes, and the tub to wash their cell; and, on glancing in at the doorway, we caught sight of the long, narrow hammock slung across the cell, just above the ground, and the dark frame of the loom showing at the back.
    The next moment a stream of some dozen or two prisoners poured from the cells, carrying their coats on their arms, and drew themselves up in two files across the centre corridor. Then we heard the warder cry, "Cleaners, face! - Cooks, face! - Bakers, face!" whereupon the men wheeled round with almost military precision, and retired, some to wash the entrance passages and offices, others to help in the kitchen, and others in the bakehouse.
    By this time (ten minutes past six), the prison was all alive, and humming like a hive with the activity of its inmates. Some of the convicts, clad in their suits of mud-brown cloth, were out in the long corridors sweeping the black asphalte pavement till it glistened again as if polished with black-lead. Others, in the narrow galleries above, were on their knees washing the flags of slate that now grew blue-black around them with the water; others, again, in the centre corridor, were hearthstoning the steps, and making them as white as slabs of biscuit-china; and others, too, in their cells, cleaning the floors and furniture there. A warder stood watching the work on each of the little mid-air bridges that connect the opposite storeys of every corridor, whilst other officers were distributed throughout the building, so as to command the best points for observing the movements of the prisoners.
    Our attendant led us to an elevated part of the building, so that we might have a bird's-eye view of the scene; and assuredly it was a strange sight to look down upon the long arcade-like corridors, that were now half-fogged with the cloud of dust rising from the sweepers' brooms, and witness the bustle and life of that place, which on our entrance seemed as still as so many cloisters; while the commingling of the many different sounds-the rattling of pails, the banging of doors, the scouring of the stones, the rumbling of trucks, the tramping of feet up the metal stairs, all echoing through the long tunnels-added greatly to the peculiarity of the scene.
    "Ah, sir," said our attendant warder, "everything is done with great precision here; [-129-] there's just so many minutes allowed for each part of the work. You will notice, sir, that it will take from twelve minutes to a quarter of an hour to wash either side of the building; and directly the clock comes to twenty-five minutes past six, we shall begin to unlock the opposite side of the corridors to that where the men are now at work-when a new set of cleaners will come out, and the present ones retire into their cells. This is done to prevent communication, which would be almost sure to take place if the men worked on opposite sides of the galleries at the same time. For the cleaning," continued our communicative friend, "each gallery contributes five men to each side, or ten in all, and each ward gives one man to the centre corridor, arid each corridor four men for sweeping below."
    The officer now drew our attention to the fact that the hands of the clock were pointing to the time he had mentioned, and that the men who had been at work along one side of the galleries had all finished, and withdrawn. Then began the same succession of noises - like the clicking, as we have said, of so many musket-triggers - indicating the unlocking of the opposite cells; and we could see, whence we stood, the officers hastening along the corridors, unfastening each door, as they went, with greater rapidity than even lamplighters travel from lamp to lamp along a street; and immediately afterwards we beheld a fresh batch of cleaners come out into each gallery, and the sweepers below cross over and begin working under them, whilst the same noises resounded through the building as before.
    A few moments after this the big brass hand-bell clattered once more through the building. This was the half-past six o'clock summons for the prisoners to commence work in their cells, and soon afterwards we saw the "trade instructors" going round the several wards, to see that the men had sufficient materials for their labour; whilst, in a few minutes, the lower wards echoed with the rattling of the looms, and we could hear the prolonged tapping of the shoemakers up above, hammering away at the leather, so that now the building assumed the busy aspect of a large factory, giving forth the same half-bewildering noise of work and machinery.
    The next part of the cleansing operations was the gathering the dust from the cells, and this was performed as rapidly and dexterously as the other processes. A convict, carrying a large wicker basket lined with tin (such as is ordinarily used for dinner plates), went before one of the officers, who held a dust-pan in his hand, and as the warder unlocked each cell- door on his round, and thrust his pan within, the prisoner in the cell emptied the dust, which he had ready collected, into the officer's pan, closing the door immediately afterwards, whilst the convict bearing the basket stood a few paces in advance of the warder, so as to receive the contents of his pan when filled. This process was performed more rapidly than it can be told, and so quickly, indeed, that though we walked by the side of the officer, we had hardly to halt by the way, and as we went the corridor rang again with the twanging of the prisoners' dust-pans, thrown, as they were emptied, one after another, out of their cells.
    On our return from watching the last-mentioned operation, we found the corridors almost empty again - the cleaners having finished their work, and retired to their cells, and the building being comparatively quiet. It was, however, but a temporary lull; for a few moments after, the seven o'clock bell rang, and this was the signal for "double-locking," whereupon the same trigger-like noise pervaded every part of the building.
    "Each cell-door, you see, sir, is always on the single lock," said our guide; "but before the warders go to breakfast (and the last bell was the signal for their doing so), the prisoners' doors and every outlet to the building is 'double-shotted' for the sake of security."
    Scarcely had our attendant communicated the intelligence to us before the work was done, and the warders came thronging to the spiral staircase, and went twisting round and round, one after another, as they descended to their breakfast in the mess-room below.

    *_** The Prison Breakfast-From seven to half-past the corridors of Pentonville Prison [-130-] are as deserted as Burlington Arcade on a Sunday, and nothing is heard the while but the clacking of the prisoners' looms, and the tapping of the convict-shoemakers' hammers, and occasionally the sharp "ting-ng-ng!" of the gong in connection with the cells, for summoning the solitary warder left in attendance.
    "If you like, sir, we will now go below to the kitchen and bakehouse," said the officer, who still remained at our side, "and see them preparing the breakfast for the prisoners."
    Accordingly, we descended the spiral staircase into the basement; and after traversing sundry passages, we knew, by the peculiar smell of bread pervading the place, that we had entered the bakery. There was but little distinctive about this part of the prison; for we found the same heap of dusty white-looking sacks. and the same lot of men, with the flour, like hair-powder, clinging to their eyebrows and whiskers (four of these were prisoners, and the other a free man - "the master baker" placed over them), as usually characterises such a place. It was, however, infinitely cleaner than all ordinary bakehouses; neither were the men slip-shod and without stockings, nor had they the appearance of walking plaster-casts, like the generality of journeymen bakers when at work. here we learnt that the bread of the prison was unfermented, owing to the impossibility of working "the sponge" there during the night; and of course we were invited to taste a bit. It was really what would have been considered "cake" in some continental states; indeed, a German servant, to whom we gave a piece of the prison loaf, was absolutely amazed at the English prodigality, and crying, "Wunder-schön!" assured us that the "König von Preussen" himself hardly ate better stuff.
    From the bakery we passed to the kitchen, where the floor was like a newly-cleaned bird-cage, with its layer of fresh sand that crunched, as garden walks are wont to do, beneath the feet. Here was a strong odour of the steaming cocoa that one of the assistant cooks (a prisoner) was busy serving, out of huge bright coppers, into large tin pails, like milk-cans. The master cook was in the ordinary white jacket and cap, and the assistants had white aprons over their brown convict trowsers, so that it would have been hard to have told that any were prisoners there.
    The allowance for breakfast "is ten ounces of bread," said the master cook to us, "and three-quarters of a pint of cocoa, made with three-quarters of an ounce of the solid flake, and flavoured with two ounces of pure milk and six drachms of molasses. Please to taste a little of the cocoa, sir. It s such as you'd find it difficult to get outside, I can assure you; for the berries are ground on the premises by the steam-engine, and so we can vouch for its being perfectly pure."
    It struck us as strange evidence of the "civilization" of our time, that a person must - in these days of "lie-tea," and chicory-mocha, and alumed bread, and brain-thickened milk, and watered butter - really go to prison to live upon unadulterated food. The best porter we ever drank was at a parish union-for the British pauper alone can enjoy the decoction of veritable malt and hops; and certainly the most genuine cocoa we ever sipped was at this same Model Prison, for not only was it made of the unsophisticated berries, but with the very purest water, too - water, not of the slushy Thames, but which had been raised from an artesian well several hundred feet below the surface, expressly for the use of these same Convicts.
    "For dinner," continued the cook, "the rations are - half a pint of good soup, four ounces of meat every day - beef and mutton alternately - without bone, and which is equal to about half a pound of uncooked meat with an ordinary quantity of bone; besides this there arc five ounces of bread and one pound of potatoes for each man, except those working in association, who have two pounds. For supper every prisoner gets a pint of gruel, made with an ounce and a half of meal, and sweetened with six drachms of molasses, together with five more ounces of bread, so that each convict has twenty ounces of bread throughout the day."
    [-131-] "Yonder are some of the ten-ounce loaves, that are just going to be served out for breakfast," added the cook; and, as he said the words, he pointed to a slab of miniature half-quarterns, that looked not unlike a block of small paving-stones cemented together. "Anything additional," continued the cook, "is ordered by the medical officer. There you see, sir, that free man yonder has just brought in some extras; they're for a prisoner in the infirmary. It's two ounces of butter, you observe, and an egg.
    "Yes, sir, that's my slate," added the man, as he saw us looking up at a long black board that was nailed against the wall in the serving-room, and inscribed with the letters and figures of the several wards of the prison, together with various hieroglyphics that needed the cook himself to interpret. "On that board I chalk up," he proceeded, "the number of prisoners in each ward, so as to know what rations I have to serve. The letter K there, underneath the figures, signifies that one man out of that particular ward is at work in the kitchen, and B, that one prisoner is employed in the bakehouse. That mark up there stands for an extra loaf to be sent up to the ward it's placed under, and these dots here for two extra meats; whilst yonder sign is to tell me that there is one man out of that part of the building gone into the infirmary. Yes, sir, we let the infirmary prisoners have just whatever the medical officer pleases to order-jelly, or fish, or indeed chicken if required."
    We then inquired what was the diet for men under punishment.
    "Why, sir," answered the cook, "the punishment allowance is sixteen ounces of bread per diem, and nothing else except water. You see I am just going to cut up the rations for the three prisoners in the refractory wards to-day; and so I take one of these twenty-ounce loaves, and cut it into three, and let the prisoner have the benefit of the trilling excess, for six ounces for breakfast, five for dinner, and five for supper, is all he's entitled to."
    "How much," said we, "will a prisoner lose in weight upon such diet ?"
    "Why, I have known men to come out as much as four or five pounds lighter after three days of it," replied the cook; "but there's a register book upstairs that will tell you exactly, sir.* 

* We were afterwards favoured with a sight of the above-named register, from which we made the following extracts as to the weights of the men before being placed upon punishment diet, and at the expiration of the sentence

Registered Number of Prisoners placed in dark cell on Punishment Diet	Weight of Prisoner on going in.	Weight of Prisoner on coming out.	Number of Days under Punishment.	Average Loss of Weight per diem.
6216	9st. 2lbs.	8st. 13lbs	3 days	1lb
6257	9st. 2lbs	8st. 11lbs	2 "	2½lbs
6419	12st.	11st. 11lbs.	1 "	3lbs
6257	9st.	Not yet out of dark cell	6 "

The above table indicates that the main loss of weight occurs upon the first day-the severity of the punishment doubtlessly affecting the body through the mind less intensely after the first twenty-four hours. We, at the same time, were allowed to inspect the sick report for the day of our visit, appended to which were the following recommendations of the medical officer:-
    "6,144, A I, 15, to have one pint of arrowroot and five ounces of bread for dinner per diem, and to keep cell.
    "6,277, D I, 23, to have cocoa for supper instead of gruel.
    "6,076, A III, 27, to go to the infirmary."
    Others were to be off trade, others to keep their cell. "If the doctor suspects a man to be scheming," whispered the warder to us, as we glanced over the sick report, "he puts him on low diet; and that soon brings him to, especially when he's kept off his meat and potatoes."

When a man is under long punishment," continued the cook, "for instance, when he has got twenty-eight days, he has full rations every fourth day, and is then found to gain flesh upon the food."
    "I have known some prisoners come out as much as three pounds lighter than when they were first locked up," chimed in the warder; "though it depends mainly upon the temper [-132-] of the men, for if they fret much over their punishment they lose the more in weight; and we know by that whether the punishment has worked upon them or not.
    "Yes, sir," said the cook, "there are few persons that can hold out against short commons; the belly can tame every man. Now there's that man in A 8, he declared that no mortal thing should pass his lips, and that he meant to starve himself to death; that was the day before yesterday, but last night he was forced to give in, and take his gruel.  Ah, sir, it takes stronger-minded men than they are to hold out against the cravings of the stomach. Just dock a prisoner's food, and it hurts him more than any 'cat' that could be laid across his back."
    It was nearly half-past seven, and the warders were beginning to ascend the spiral staircase from below, and the corridors to rumble with the rolling of the trucks along the pavement, and that of the "food-carriages along the tops of the gallery railings, in preparation for the serving of the prisoners' breakfast.
    At the time of our visit there were nearly three hundred and seventy convicts in the prison, and the warder had told us that the rations were distributed to the whole of these men in about eight minutes. We had seen sufficient of the admirable regulations of this prison to satisfy us that if the enormous building could be cleansed from end to end, and that in a manner surpassing all private establishments, in little more than half an hour, it was quite possible to accomplish the distribution of nearly four hundred breakfasts in less than ten minutes. Still we could not help wondering by what division of labour the task was to be achieved, especially when it is remembered that each of the four corridors is as long as an arcade, and as high as the nave of a large church, having double galleries one above the other.
    While we were speculating as to the process, the brass hand-bell was rung once more, to announce that the prisoners' breakfast hour (half-past seven) had arrived; and the bell had scarcely ceased pealing before the two oaken flaps let into the black asphalte pavement at the corners of the central hall, so that each stood between two of the four corridors, raised themselves as if by magic, and there ascended from below, through either flap, a tray laden with four large cans of cocoa, and two baskets of bread. These trays were raised by means of a "lifting machine," the bright iron rods of which stretched from the bottom to the top of the building, and served as guides for the friction-rollers of the trays. No sooner were the cans and bread-baskets brought up from below, than a couple of wanders and trade instructors, two to either of the adjoining corridors, seized each half the quantity, and placing it on the trucks that stood ready by the flaps, away the warder and instructor went, the one wheeling the barrow of cocoa along the side of the corridor, and the other hastening to open the small trap in each cell-door as he served the men with the bread.
    This is done almost as rapidly as walking, for no sooner does the trade-instructor apply his key to the cell-door than the little trap falls down and forms a kind of ledge, on which the officer may place the loaf, and the prisoner at the same time deposit his mug for the cocoa. This mug the warder who wheels the cocoa truck fills with the beverage, ladling it out as milkmen do the contents of their pails, and, when full, he thrusts the mug back through the aperture in the cell-door, and closes the trap with a slam.
    The process goes on in each ground-floor of the four corridors at one and the same time and scarely has it commenced before the bell of the lifting apparatus tinkles, and the emptied tray descends and brings up another load of steaming cans and bread. But these an now earned up to the galleries of the first floor, and there being received by the warders as before. the contents are placed upon the food-carriages, which are not unlike the small vehicles on tram-roads, and reach from side to side of each arcade, the top of the iron balcony to the galleries serving as rails for the carriage wheels to travel along.
    The distribution here goes on in the same rapid manner as below, and while this is taking place the lifting bell tinkles again, and the trays having descended once more, up they 

[-135-] come a third time laden with a fresh supply of food, which now mounts to the upper floor, and being there received in the same manner as previously, is immediately distributed by means of the same kind of food-carriages throughout the upper ward.
    The sound of the rumbling of the trucks and food-carriages as the wheels travel along the pavement and the rails, the tinkling of the bell of the lifting apparatus, and the rapid succession of reports made by the slamming of the traps of the 360 cell-doors, are all necessary in order to give the reader a vivid sense of the rapidity of the distribution-which is assuredly about as curious and busy a process as one can well witness, every portion of the duty being conducted with such ease, and yet with such marvellous despatch, that there is hardly a finer instance of the feats that can be accomplished by the division of labour than this same serving of nearly 400 breakfasts in less than ten minutes.

    *_** The Refractory Ward and Prison Punishments.-A few moments after the above busy scene has come to an end, the prison is as still and quiet as the City on the Sabbath. The warders have nearly all gone below to "clean themselves," the looms have ceased clacking, and the shoemakers tapping, and even the gong in connection with the cells is no longer heard to sound in the corridors. For a time one would fancy the whole prison was asleep again.
    Presently, however, the glass doors at the end of the passage are thrown open, and the governor enters with his keys in his hand. Then one of the warders who remains on duty hurries on before him, crying, "Governor-r-r! Governor-r-r! Governor-r-r!" as he opens each of the cell-doors. The chief prison authority walks past the several cells, saying, as he goes, "All right ! All right!" to each prisoner, who stands ready drawn up at the door, as stiff as a soldier in his sentry-box, with his hand raised, by way of salute, to the side of his cap; whilst no sooner have the words been spoken than the door is closed again, and the building echoes with the concussion.
    This done, the governor proceeds to visit the refractory cells; but before accompanying him thither, let us prepare the reader with an idea of the nature of such places.
    The refractory, or, as they are sometimes called, "dark cells, are situate in the basement of corridor C. It was mid-day when we first visited these apartments at Pentonville.
    "Light a lantern, Wood," said the chief warder to one of the subordinate officers, "so that this gentleman may look at the dark cells."
    The lamp lighted at noon gave us a notion of what we were to expect, and yet it was a poor conception of what we saw.
    Descending a small flight of stairs, we came to a narrow passage, hardly as wide as the area before second-rate houses; and here was a line of black doors, not unlike the entrances to the front cellars of such houses. These were the refractory cells.
    The officer who accompanied us threw back one of the doors, which turned as heavily on its hinges, and gave forth the same hollow sound, as the massive door of an iron safe. The interior which it revealed was absolutely and literally "pitch dark." Not a thing was visible in the cell; and so utterly black did it look within, that we could not believe but that there was another door between us and the interior. The officer, however, introduced his lantern, and then we could see the rays diverging from the bull's-eye, and streaking the darkness with a bright, luminous mist, as we have all seen a sunbeam stripe the dusky atmosphere of some cathedral. The light from the lantern fell in a bright, Jack-a-dandy-like patch upon the white walls, and we then discovered, as the warder flickered the rays into the several corners of the chamber, that the refractory cell was about the size of the other cells in which the men lived, but that it was utterly bare of all furniture, excepting, in one corner, a small raised bench, with a sloping head-piece, that was like a wooden mattress, placed upon the ground. This, we were told, was, with a rug for covering, the only bed allowed.
    "Would you like to step inside," asked the warder, "and see how dark it is when the door is closed?"
    [-136-] We entered the terrible place with a shudder, for there is something intensely horrible in absolute darkness to all minds, confess it or not as they may; and as the warder shut the door upon us-and we felt the cell walls shake and moan again, like a tomb, as he did so - the utter darkness was, as Milton sublimely says- "visible". The eyes not only saw, but felt the absolute negation of their sense in such a place. Let them strain their utmost not one luminous chink or crack could the sight detect. Indeed, the very air seemed as impervious to vision as so much black marble, and the body seemed to be positively encompassed with the blackness, as if it were buried alive, deep down in the earth itself. Though we remained several minutes in the hope that we should shortly gain the use of our eyes, and begin to make out, in the thick dusk, bit after bit of the apartment, the darkness was at the end of the time quite as impenetrable as at first, so that the continual straining of the eye-balls, and taxing of the brains, in order to get them to do their wonted duty, soon produced a sense of mental fatigue, that we could readily understand would end in conjuring up all kinds of terrible apparitions to the mind.
    "Have you had enough, sir?" inquired the wander to us, as he re-opened the door, and whisked the light of his lantern in our eyes.
    An owl, suddenly roused from its sleep in the daylight, could not have been more dazzled and bewildered with the glitter of the rays than we. The light was now as blinding to us as had been the darkness itself, and such was the dilatation of the pupils that we had to rub our eyes, like one newly waked from sleep, before we could distingnish anything on leaving the place; and when we mounted the steps and entered the corridor once more, the air had the same blue tint to us as that of early morning.
    "Well, sir, I think," said the warder, in answer to our question as to how many intractables the prison contained, "we have altogether about three or four per cent. of refractory people here, and they are mostly the boys and second probation men, as we call them. Separate confinement in Pentonvile Prison for nine months now constitutes the first or probationary stage to the convict; and then he is transferred to the public works, either at Woolwich, or Portsmouth, or Portland, as the case may be, which forms the second stage. But if the man won't conform to discipline at the public works, why then he is sent back to us again, and such people constitute what we call 'second probation men.' Some of them are very difficult to deal with, I can assure you, sir. The Glasgow boys in the prison are perhaps the worst class of all. I can hardly say what is the reason of their being so bad. I don't think it is the lax discipline of the Glasgow prison; but the race, ye a see, is half Scotch and half Irish, and that is a very bad mixture, to my mind. On the other hand, the sheep-stealers and the convicts who have been farm-labourers are about the easiest managed of all the prisoners here. Then, what we call the first-class men, such as those who have been well educated, like the clerks, and forgers, and embezzlers, and so forth, give us little or no trouble; and, generally speaking, the old jail-birds fall into the discipline very well, for they know it is no use knocking their head against the wall. The boys, however, who come here for the first time, are sad, troublesome fellows, and will stand an awful deal of punishment surely before their temper is broke."
    
    We had visited the dark cells at six o'clock in the morning of the day which we spent within the prison. At that time there were four prisoners confined in the refractory ward, and we found a boy, with an officer in attendance, turned out into the passage to wash himself at the sink, and to fold up the rug he had to cover himself with during the night. He had been sentenced to one day's confinement in the dark cell, we were told, for communicating in chapel.
    "Any complaint?" said the warder. "None," was the brief reply. Then the bull's-eye was thrust into the cell, and the light flirted through every part of the chamber so as to show whether or not any depredations had been committed. The boy gave us a sullen look [-137-] as we passed by him, and the warder told us, while we mounted the steps, that when the lad had ftnished washing, another prisoner would be let out to perform the same operation.
    Some hour and a half after this, during the governor~ s morning visit, we went once more to the same place. The officer, who preceded the governor, threw open the doors one by one, crying, "Governor-r-r!" as before, and the prisoners stood drawn up at the cell-doors as the others had done.
    "Please to release me, sir," said the first under punishment, "and I'll promise you I won't do so again."
    "We never remit any punishment here," was the governor's brief answer; and immediately the door of the dark cell was closed upon the prisoner once more.
    The second man had a less dogged and surly expression, and the governor exclaimed, as his quick eye detected the signs of yielding temper in his face, "Oh! you're coming to your senses are you? Well, I am glad to hear it; and you'll be more careful for the future."
    The last but one under confinement was "a bad fellow," the governor told us, and was in for six days; whilst the last of all had been sent back from the works at Portland as incorrigible. These two were merely inspected, and asked whether all was right; but not a word was spoken in return by the men, who looked the very picture of bitter sullenness. So the heavy doors closed upon them, and the wretched creatures were again shut up in their living tombs.
    "Ah! sir," said one of the warders to us, at a later part of the day, "some of the convicts are very difficult to deal with. I remember once we had forty of the worst fellows sent to us here - the forty thieves we used to call them. They were men who had gone the round of the public prisons and the "hulks," and some of thorn had been sent back, before their sentences expired, from the public works at Gibraltar. When they came in, the governor was told that one of the men, who was in chains, was so dangerous that it wouldn't be safe to allow him anything but a wooden spoon to eat with. Well, sir, the governor spoke to them all, and said if they would only obey orders they should be treated like other men; but if they would not conform to discipline, why he was prepared to compel them. So he made no more ado but ordered the irons to be took off the most dangerous of them; and sure enough that man became quite an altered character. However, we didn't like having such people here, I can tell you; for we always expected an attempt would be made to break prison by the lot of them all at once; and whenever many of them were brought together (as in the chapel, for instance), a sufficient number of officers was kept under arms, within call, ready to act in case of need. But, thank goodness, all went well, anti the greater part of those very men not only left here with good characters, but merely a few of them had to be punished. But another prisoner, not of the same gang, but a returned convict who had been in Norfolk Island, was much more difficult to manage than even these; and I remember, after he had been confined in the refractory cell, he swore, on being let out, that he would murder any man who attempted to come down to him there. He had made a spring at the officer near him, and would assuredly have bitten his nose off had the warder not retreated up the stairs, so that the man was down below all alone, vowing and declaring he would have the life of the first person that tried to get him up. Well, you see, we knew we could master him directly we had him in the corridor; but as we couldn't take his life, and he could ours, he was more than a match for us down in the refractory ward. Accordingly the governor had to devise some means by which to get him up stairs without hurting him - and how d'ye think he did it, sir? Why, he got some cayenne pepper and burnt it in a fumigating bellows, and then blew the smoke down into the ward where the fellow was. The man stood it for some time; but, bless you, he was soon glad to surrender, for, as we sent in puff after puff it set him coughing and sneezing, and rubbing his eyes, and stamping with the pain, as the fumes got not only into his throat and up his nose, but under his eyelids, and made them smart, till the tears ran down his cheeks as if he had been a little child. Then immediately after-[-138-]wards we threw ourselves upon him, and effectually secured him against doing any further harm. Oh! no, sir," added the officer, with a smile and a knowing shake of the head, "he never tried the same game on after that; one dose of cayenne pepper smoke was quite enough for him, I can assure you."
    "When we first came here," continued our informant, "we used to have some weapons to prevent a prisoner from injuring any of us in his cell; for, you see, we are obliged to allow the convicts knives and hammers when they are employed as shoemakers, so that they may do their work in their cells. Well, some one or other of the prisoners used occasionally to get furious, and swear that they would stick us with their knives or knock our brains out with their hammers if we dared to come near them, and we could see by their expressions that they meant it too. But how do you think we used to do in such cases? Why, one of us used to put on a large shield that was made of basket-work, well stuffed and covered with leather, and almost big enough to screen a person's whole body behind it; and when the officer saw a good opportunity, he would suddenly rush into the cell, thrusting the shield right in front of the prisoner, end whilst the fellow was taken aback with this, another officer would dart in, holding a long pole with a large padded crutch like an enormous pitchfork at the end of it; and thrusting this at the upper part of the prisoner's body, he would pinion him right up against the wall. No sooner, too, would this be done than another officer, bearing a similar crutch, but somewhat smaller, would make a drive at the fellow's legs, and pin these in a like manner; whilst immediately that was accomplished, the other warders would pour in and over-power the man. We have, however, now done away with all such things, for we find that if a convict is rebellious he is much sooner brought to himself by putting him on low diet than by all the fetters in the world. Only stop his meat and potatoes, as the cook said to you this morning, sir, and he'll soon give in, I warrant."
        Later in the day we were present when two prisoners, who had been reported for refractory conduct, were brought in for examination before the governor in his office. The report-book lay upon the table, and the governor pointed out to us that the offence of the one was refusal to wash the slates and go to chapel, and that of the other wilful disturbance of the congregation in the chapel by clapping his hands.
    The former of these had been liberated from the dark cell only that morning. He was, comparatively speaking, a mere boy, and entered the governor's office in a determined manner. but seeing us there he became frightened, mistaking us, we were told, for some awful government authority. So when the governor asked him what he had to say, and whether he admitted the charge, he nodded his head sullenly in assent, and was immediately marched off to the dark cell once more.
    The next offender was the church-disturber. He was one of the Glasgow boys of whom we have before spoken, and had been sent back to Pentonville from Parkhurst. He had already been punished four times before. His face, which was almost flat and broad, was remarkable for the extreme self-will depicted in him, and he had that peculiar thick bull-neck which is so characteristic of stubbornness of temper.
    On being asked what he had to say, he stoutly denied the charge, declaring that it was all false, and that the officer had a spite against him. "Then," said the governor, "let the officer state his case." The warder stepped forward and declared that, during prayers that morning, the boy had clapped his hands loudly at the end of the service. The officer said he was sure it was the prisoner, because the lad stood upon a stool in the chapel, being short, and he had his eyes fixed upon him while he committed the offence.
    "Well," said the governor, "what have you to say now?"
    "I say it aint true," muttered the boy, shaking his head, and frowning with a determined air.
    "Take him away to the dark cell," said the governor; and he proceeded to write in the book that his punishment was to be three days' confinement in the refractory ward upon [-139-] punishment diet, with loss of stripe and removal from the A division, which is the part of the prison occupied by the convicts who are permitted to work in partial association after having passed nine months in separation.
    "You see," said the governor, turning to us when the boy had left, "I am obliged to support my officers."*

*The following is an epitome of the punishments in this prison for one entire year:-

LIST OF PUNISHMENTS IN PENTONVILLE PRISON DURING 1854

No. of Prisoners Punished

No. of Times Punished

No. of Punishments

No. of Prisoners Punished