royalty, has nothing repulsive about it—nothing at all. Very different in this respect is it to the ducal prison on the side of the Lagoon, and even to Newgate. It appears to be embosomed in a very enviable grove of trees; to the casual glance, suggesting shadier nooks and softer siestas than are always to be found among the cushions and benches of Bellamy's and the "Houses." If the digestion of honourable members be disturbed, or their slumbers interfered with in the afternoon sitting, it is quite as likely to be caused by thoughts connected with the palace as the prison-perhaps more so. But our business is not to discuss this question.

Tothill-fields prison has generally borne a fair reputation. It was originally erected in 1618, as an old stone, bearing an inscription, and now built into a part of the garden-wall, still testifies. It was repaired or enlarged in 1655; for, in the time of Howard, the following quaint piece of information was affixed over the gateway :-" Here are several sorts of work for the poor of this parish of St. Margaret's, Westminster, and also the county according to law, and for such as will beg and live idly in this city of Westminster. Anno, 1655." Howard describes the prison as being remarkably well managed in his day, and holds up its enlightened and careful keeper, one George Smith, as a model to other governors. Some years ago the whole of the old buildings were taken down, and the present edifice was completed in 1836. It is a very large, substantial, and even handsome structure. The entrance is

on the Vauxhall side, and, as seen from the exterior, it looks the very ideal of a national prison-vast, airy, light, and yet inexorably safe. Indeed, it is so. There has never been an escape from it, except one, the consequence of carelessness on the part of the door-keeper, who laid down his key, and a prisoner picking it up, unlocked the gate and walked away. This, of course, is nothing against the building; so that, even in point of strength, it is superior to Newgate, though that is the one sole point of a good prison which the latter possesses! On entering at the gateway, we are agreeably surprised to find ourselves in face of a spacious and beautifully-trimmed garden, nearly as large as the shrubbery of Belgravesquare, but adorned with finer trees, and kept in better order,—round which a series of buildings are ranged, which constitute the body of the prison; while in front stands the governor's house, upon which the chapel is built-this being the tower-like building which is seen from Pimlico and Piccadilly. While waiting for a guide to conduct us round the establishment, we are shown into a bureau or counting-house, where we notice a number of rockets and several stands of arms piled up; and, by inquiry, learn that on an emergency about fifty men can be armed in a few minutes for the defence of the place

-a very formidable force behind such walls and gates-while the rockets would in an instant convey intelligence to the Horse Guards, and to the barracks in St. James's and Hyde parks, of any attack, and two or three thousand men could be concentrated upon

the spot in half-an-hour.

It is quite as well, under the circumstances of the time, that these little facts should be made known to the public. It would be as safe to make an attempt upon the Tower as upon this prison. There is no reason why we should not add, that all the other great London gaols are similarly well provided for their defence, in case of need. The days of prison-breaking and burning in miserable riots are over. No one must now dream of liberating prisoners unless he is also prepared to overthrow the government of the country-to do it would require, not a row, but a revolution.

The warder, however, waits to conduct us; so let us attend him. To the eye of the mere visitor, nothing could be more graceful and striking — though, at the same time, severe and prison-like— than the garden court-yard, with its neat vegetation and surrounding piles: but the more experienced eye sees in the arrangement, faults of plan, which, for prison-purposes, are irredeemable by any exterior advantages. There is no concealing the fact, that this building is a huge and costly blunder. For a house of correction, it is one of the very worst erections in London. Seeing that it was built only a few years ago, it is astonishing that it should have been so ill arranged. But, in truth, the science of penal discipline is yet in its infancy, and twenty years back it was much less understood than it is A glance at the plan of this gaol and that of Pentonville will reveal its faults at once. Pentonville is really one prison: this is several.

now.

From the

central point of that the door of every cell may be seen at once from no point in this can more than a fragment of the whole be seen. For all purposes of supervision, each of these detached buildings is a separate establishment, requiring a much larger expenditure for the staff than would otherwise be needed for the same sum-total of efficiency obtained.

This prison, as well as Coldbath-fields, is under the management of the county magistrates of Middlesex, and is used for the correction or confinement of pretty nearly the same class of criminals. It has, however, a few others-debtors For example, here may be seen the notorious Joseph Ady, confined for a debt owing to the postmaster-general, for returned letters, looking very mild and placid, as was said to be his wont when telling you " of something to your advantage." Here, too, are the chief of the chartist convicts, Ernest Jones, Fussell, Sharp, Williams, &c. So far as appears, these misguided men are in good health and spirits, considering the rigid character of their confinement. As is well known, this gaol is conducted on the silent system. These men, moreover, never see each other, nor any of their fellowprisoners though placed in adjoining cells and yards, they are probably not aware of it and it would be useless if they were, for the walls are so lofty, and the guard so strict, that no chance of communication could be found, even if it were desired. Few will need to be informed, that by the laws of England a person convicted of misdemeanour may elect to maintain himself in prison, so as to be free

from forced labour tasks. These political prisoners, being tried under the old law, are only misdemeanants, and are therefore at liberty to avail themselves of this provision-pay five shillings per week for their maintenance, and have their time-subject to the general regulations of the institution-at their own disposal. Mr. Ernest Jones, for one, seems disposed to employ the leisure thus obtained wisely. We find him surrounded by his books-admitted under the sanction of the chaplain, whose veto is said to be only placed on works of a polemical or amusing kind, as not in accordance with the penal character of the place. Greek and mathematics are the studies to which he seems to be devoting himself. Whenever a man of education and social position becomes the inmate of a prison, and the subject of penal discipline, it is always interesting to know the result of his experience of its efficacy. Such cases do not very often occur; and, this being one, our inquiries are preferred on the subject. Mr. Jones says his health is not affected by his confinement. At first he felt the sense of restraint rather severely, being accustomed to take a great deal of exercise, riding and walking. He caught some little cold also stone floors are not so comfortable as carpets; and the man who has been used to tread on Persian, does not at first take kindly to cold masonry; but these inconveniences have been overcome. He is now reconciled to his situation, walks in his yard and cell twenty miles a-day, and pursues his studies. The diet, he says, is good and sufficient; the soup