was, and supplied with the latest products of civilization. The gas was
burning brightly; fresh cool water flowed at his will; at his touch a
bell rang, and instantly, outside his door, an iron plate sprang out,
and indicated to the warder in what cell his presence was required. "How
clean and comfortable!" says the introduced-by-special-order visitor, to
his obsequious acquaintance the governor, on observing these admirable
arrangements. "How much better are these scoundrels cared for," cries
the unthinking public, "than are our honest poor!" It is not, however,
that the convict is pampered; but for this unkindly care he would not be
able to endure the punishment which justice has decreed for him. Science
has meted out to him each drop of gruel, each ounce of bread, each
article of clothing, and each degree of warmth. Not one of all the
recipients of this cruel benevolence but would gladly have exchanged
places with the shivering tramp or the work-house pauper. To cower under
the leafless branches of Bergen Wood, while the November night-blasts
made them grind and clang, would have seemed paradise compared with that
snug lodging; nay, the grave itself, with its dim dread Hereafter, has
been preferred before it.

Life at Lingmoor was existence by machinery--monotony that sometimes
maddened as well as slew. To read of it is to understand nothing of
this. The bald annals of the place reveal nothing of this terrible
secret.

Richard rose at five at clang of bell, cleaned out his cell, and folded
up his bed more neatly than did ever chamber-maid; at six was
breakfast--porridge, and forty minutes allowed for its enjoyment; then
chapel and parade; then labor--mat-making was his trade, at which he
became a great proficient. His fingers deftly worked, while his mind
brooded. At twelve was dinner--bread and potatoes, with seventy minutes
allowed for its digestion; then exercise in the yard, and mat-making
again till six in summer, and four in winter; prayers, supper, school
till eight; when the weary day was done. On Sunday, except two hours of
exercise and chapel, Richard was his own master, to brood as much as he
would. There were also no less than three holidays in the year, on which
it has been whispered with horror that the convicts have pudding. There
was, however, no such excess at Lingmoor.

As for society, there was the chaplain. This gentleman could make
nothing of Richard, though he tried his best. It was evident to