this plank bed and other
superfluous tortures of our prison system, brought to the very verge
of the grave; and I can scarcely control my indignation when I remember
that Mr. Truelove, at the age of seventy, was subjected to this
atrocious discipline.

The mattresses are stuffed with fibre. They are tolerable at first,
but in a few weeks the stuffing runs into lumps, and your mattress gets
nearly as hard as the plank. Shaking is no good; I tried it, and found
it only shifted the lumps out of the places my body had forced them in,
and left me to repose on a series of hillocks. I got my mattress changed
once or twice, but ordinary prisoners are seldom so fortunate.

I retired to rest early that first evening in Holloway. The day had been
eventful, and I slept heavily. Breakfast the next morning was a second
edition of the tea--bread and skilly; and again I refreshed myself with
the little loaf and cold water.

Soon after breakfast I was invited to attend chapel. It was a welcome
summons, for the cell is so drearily monotonous that any change is
agreeable. The corner of the chapel we entered was partitioned off
from the rest of the building, and capable of seating twenty or thirty
prisoners. Besides ourselves, there were present ten or twelve boys,
three or four old men, and two or three persons who looked slightly
imbecile. The service was read by the chaplain, whose voice was loud,
authoritative, and repellant. Some people would call it gruff. It was
certainly the most unpersuasive voice I ever heard. As I listened to
its domineering tones I could hardly refrain from laughing, for they
elicited an old story from the depths of memory. An aged pauper lay
dying, and in the parson's absence the master officiated at the sinner's
exit from this world. "Well, Tom," he began, "you've been a dreadful
fellow, and I fear you are going to hell." "Oh, sir," said the poor old
fellow, "you don't say so." "Yes, Tom," the master rejoined, "I do say
so; and you ought to be thankful there's a hell to go to."

After chapel we spent an hour or so in our cells, and were then
conducted to the basement of the reception wing, where we met the
Governor, who conducted us through several dark passages that led to the
foot of a spiral iron staircase. We ascended this, and found ourselves
on the ground floor of the criminal side of the prison. Four wings
radiated from a common centre, distinguished by the first four letters
of the alphabet. I was