to the evening class-of which by-and-by-he must now retire, after his hard day's exertions, to sleep until six next morning-eleven hours! How very absurd and mischievous the last part of this arrangement is every reader must feel. Can any honest man, who has to live by his labour, afford to lie in bed eleven hours out of every twenty-four? Now we must go back to the boy whose day was one of work. At nine o'clock he leaves the chapel for the work-room or the farm, where he remains at least until half-past twelve-three hours and a halfwhen he has an hour for dinner; after which he goes again to work till six-four hours and a half more-when he joins his fellows in the play-ground for twenty minutes; then supper, and to bed to rest his eleven hours also. These two daily routines the boy passes three times a-week. Now let us count up how many hours a-week he is engaged in labour, even according to the scheme on which the prison is conducted. On the three days of schooling he works an hour and a half each day-four hours and a half in the week. On the three days of labour he works eight hours each-twenty-four hours in the week. Altogether not more than twenty-eight hours and a half a-week the year round! We have good reason to believe that the average is very much less than this-less than half of it; but take the statement at best, as a matter of positive regulation. The average time for work is four hours and a half a-day. What is four and a half hours' labour a-day good for as a means of forming and fostering habits

of toilsome industry? If these lads were to be transported to Icarie, or some other paradise of the Communist's brain, the habit of working four hours a-day and sleeping eleven would not enable them to live. The wildest Eutopist has not yet dreamt of a social state in which such a system would be justifiable. In any British colony to which they can be sent, with these habits they will be perfectly useless. Four hours' work a-day will not support a man in any part of insular Asia.

Such a

programme as this of Parkhurst is utterly absurd. Many of these boys are from Manchester, where, if they worked in the mills, they must have been employed sixty-nine hours a-week. Many more are from the agricultural counties, where, if farmlabourers, they must have been at work, at least, an equal number of hours in the week. No labourer in the Cornish mines, in the Lancashire mills, in the Staffordshire forges and furnaces, can honestly afford to lie in bed eleven hours, except on his day of rest.

In the face of this circumstance, who can wonder at the poverty of result arising from the industry of the Parkhurst inmates? If you do not work, you, of course, cannot earn. It is by no means unreasonable to suppose that Parkhurst, under a different system, might be made to pay its expenses. It is far from doing that at present. Last year the total cost of the prison and its management was 14,5607. 18s. 5d. Towards this very heavy sum, the farm produce and proceeds from sale of stock amounted to 5287. 16s. 3d.;

proceeds of sale of manufactured goods, 125l. 6s. 7d.; and from oakum and other receipts it got credit for 2877. 38. 4d.: in all, expenditure, 14,5607. 18s. 5d. ; receipts, 9417. 6s. 2d.; net cash for the year, 13,6197. 128. 3d. And this exclusive of all charges for ground-rent, or interest on the first outlay. It would not be impossible to reduce the balance against the tax-payers very materially; but it is quite evident that, in order to make it advance nearer to the point of self-support, the inmates must be taught to sleep less and work more than they do now. Woe for them if they are not!

If the hours devoted to work are too few, those devoted to school and chapel are too many; but especially to the former. By looking over the daily routine, it will be observed that on three days in the week the boy receives three hours' schooling in the forenoon, and two and a half in the afternoon, besides that in the evening, which requires a word of explanation. It is not a class or school, properly so called. It is rather a little intellectual réunion. The master is present, but there is no formal teaching. The youths they are most of them from eighteen to twenty years of age-have their books, slates, and papers with them. They study, converse, read, and so on, for an hour or more. If any difficulty in his studies have occurred to any boy, he then consults the master, and takes counsel against it. Of course, it is considered in the prison as a privilege to belong to this society; for in it the member gets a light and pleasant room, filled with his associates, for an

hour or more every evening, in exchange for the darkness, silence, and loneliness of his cell. The society is, in fact, the highest guild in the gaol. It is only to be reached by good conduct; and any breach of discipline occasions its loss. Such an institution, especially in a prison which is strictly one of trial and probation like this, is capable of doing a great deal of good. No member of it can be punished, except by degradation. If two boys, one a member and the other not, commit some offence in common, the member is struck off the list; he loses his privileges, but receives no positive punishment. other boy is reduced to bread and water, or whipped, as the case may be. After his degradation, the exmember is liable to personal punishment for his next offence; but so long as he retains his place in this privileged order, there is always one offence between him and personal chastisement. It is a very useful

The

idea to have in such a place, because it puts the prisoner in a position where the virtues which spring from self-respect have room to grow.

Reckoning this hour at night-every night—and the hours of instruction already noticed to those spent in chapel, we shall see that the Parkhurst boy has more hours at school and chapel in the week than in the workshop and the farm! To get an idea of what is taught in all these hours of study, let us now go into the schoolroom. You find yourself in a large apartment, with galleries at each side, and a black screen drawn across the end.

a strange, strong smell assaults the

As you enter, nasal organ.

You sniff, and ask if the rooms are ever cleaned, and if no preparation has been made for the visits of cholera? Lift the corner of the screen, and as you lift it there is a flash of light, the room is filled with smoke in an instant, and the galleries ring with loud applause. You may well wonder where you are. In a moment or two the smoke and noise subside, and you find yourself in the midst of a lecture on chemistry, illustrated by experiments, such as may be seen any day in the year at the Polytechnic in Regent-street. There stands the lecturer in the midst of his retorts, his batteries, his receivers. His lecture is on the properties of the simple gases; and very brilliant effects he is able to produce: and much satisfaction he appears to give to his juvenile auditors. They evidently like it much better than working in the field or at the forge. And to do them justice, some of them seem to take it up with great eagerness and facility; and all of them, you find, prefer sitting to see such experiments to the drier studies of the ordinary schoolroom. Some trouble is said to arise from the attempts of unauthorized youngsters to get into the lecture-room at such times and the other two schoolmasters have often to regret the superior attraction of the burning gases. Is the Home Secretary aware of the introduction of these amusements into Parkhurst? The lecturer believes that men will take more interest in agricultural operations when they have a scientific knowledge of the powers and properties of matter. It may be so; but the prison officers find that the