ggoners were letting off their
waggons as stages for spectators at twopence per head.

The various prisoners in the Tower were all removed to the new gaol, or
French prison, as it was called, on the French being released from
custody, at the peace of 1812. This prison, which stood in Great
Howard-street--I little thought I should live to see it swept away--was
designed by Mr. Howard. Great Howard-street was called after him. The
Frenchmen did so much damage to the gaol, that it cost 2000 pounds to put
it in order after their departure. These people maintained themselves by
making fancy articles, and carved bone and ivory work. I once saw a ship
made by one of them--an exquisite specimen of ingenuity and
craftsmanship. The ropes, which were all spun to the proper sizes, were
made of the prisoner's wife's hair. I had in my possession for many
years, two cabinets, with drawers, &c., made of straw, and most
beautifully inlaid.

I went with Mr. Nield, in one of his visits to Liverpool, to inspect the
Bridewell which stood on the Fort. The building was intended for a
powder magazine; but being found damp, it was not long used for that
purpose. The keeper was Robert Walton, who was paid one guinea per week
wages. There were no perquisites attached to this place, neither in
"fees" nor "garnish." In fact, the prisoners confined within its dreary,
damp walls had nothing to pay for, nor expect. There were no
accommodations of any sort. The corporation certainly found "firing,"
but nothing else, either in beds or food, not even water. There was no
yard to it, nor convenience of any kind. Under ground were two dreary,
damp, dark vaults, approached by eight steps. One of them was 18 feet by
12, the other 12 feet by 7.5. They received little light through
iron-barred windows. Above were two rooms. One was 18 feet by 10, the
other 10 feet by 9. Adjoining these two rooms, devoid of fire-grate or
windows, were two cells, each 5 feet by 6 feet high. The prisoners in
this dreadful place, were herded together, unemployed in any way, and
dependent entirely upon their friends for food. It was a disgrace to
humanity. It was damp, dirty, and in a most miserable condition.

An interesting circumstance connected with the Tower I find detailed in a
book of my father's, which he called "_The Family Log_." It relates to
the escape of some prisoners-of-war confined in the Tower. My father in
this "Log," used to enter up at