clerk then asked, in a loud voice, whether any
creditor "In re Smith" had any objection to
my being discharged? Upon this a creditor
rose and said, "I oppose the prisoner's
discharge." The Commissioner at once told me
that he must refuse me my liberty until
the choice of assignees, which would take place
in about a fortnight. My solicitor remonstrated,
and told His Honour how I had already suffered
the loss of my situation by imprisonment, and
how I had repeatedly endeavoured to make a
settlement with my creditors before filing my
petition, to which I had been driven by the
impossibility of paying them now that I had
no salary to depend upon. The Commissioner
said he was very sorry for me, but that any
creditor had a legal right to oppose my discharge
without assigning any reason whatever for so
doing. Thus I was remanded to prison for
another fortnight.

Among other petty annoyances to which we
were subjected at Whitecross-street, was that of
being locked out from our sleeping-rooms from
eight in the morning until seven at night, and
thus never being able during the whole day
to touch water, soap, or hairbrush. The
sleeping-rooms consisted of a very large dreary
cold barrack-room sort of place—only I should
like to hear the indignant appeals which would
be made in the House of Commons, could any
barrack-room, or even criminal prison, half so bad
be found within the limits of the kingdom—
divided into so many bunks, or compartments
each one large enough to hold a very
narrow small-sized bed. Although it was the
midst of a very cold winter, and although these
rooms never could be visited by the sun, there
was no fire—not even a fireplace. Anything like
the deadly cellar-like cold of this vile hole, I never
felt in my life; although I had never been used
to luxuries. The beds, from their size, must
have been intended for thin schoolboys; from
their hardness, for Trappist monks. The first
night I lay wretchedly awake. Two very thin
blankets were all between me and the cold that
fearful long night. In the next bunk to me there
was a Frenchman, who could hardly speak a word
of English, and to whom I had been of some little
use in interpreting during the day. Hearing
me shivering with cold, he offered to lend me
one of two railway-rugs he had brought with
him. I never was so grateful for anything. I
rolled myself round in the welcome rug, and
towards morning dozed off, but only to be
roused up by a man who cleaned the shoes,
and did odd jobs about the place for the
prisoners of the ward, calling out, "Half-past
seven, gents; time to be up!"

There was in each bunk a small basin, in
which even a limited wash of hands and face
could not be accomplished without a great deal
of difficulty. It was astonishing to observe how
very soon the most clean and trim-looking among
us became as careless and as dirty in their persons
as the rest. Nor could it well be otherwise.
Our hurried dressing complete, we had to move
off into the general sitting-room—in appearance,
and compound smell of tobacco, beer, fried
bacon, and salt fish, more like a thieves' kitchen
in the slums of St. Giles's than any other place I
ever was in. Here we found waiting for us a solid
enough breakfast of fried bacon, eggs, bread, salt
butter, and strong, if not good, tea. By
nine o'clock this meal was over and cleared
away, and from that time until ten the prisoners
smoked, talked, played at backgammon, or
otherwise amused themselves. There was an open
court-yard, round and round which some of
them walked, in pairs or alone. Any prisoner
who had a solicitor could see him in what is
called the Solicitor's-room—the only cheerful
room in the whole building—and remain there
talking with him as long as needful. But
friends or relatives can only be seen in a dark
and abominable place, with benches and tables
set out like a very low tavern, and to which
all females who come to see the prisoners must
repair. I was so disgusted with much that I
saw and heard in this place, that, after the first
or second time she came, I forbade my wife
returning again to see me. The choice of
assignees in my bankruptcy would take place in
about a fortnight, and I preferred waiting that
time without seeing my wife, rather than allow
her to come to such a place again.

At ten o'clock, strangers were allowed to
enter. For such persons as lived in the far
west of London, or in the suburbs, this hour
was far too early, particularly in winter. At
twelve, all strangers had to leave, but why or
wherefore I never could make out. At two,
they might return; but what could they do in
the mean time? I have heard again and again
of poor ladies whose husbands were in
Whitecross-street having to walk the streets of that
loathsome neighbourhood until the prison opened
again at two, and then only to be turned out
again at three.

Two was our dinner-hour. The plain food
we got was good of its kind, and abundant
in quantity. It would have been our own
fault if it had been otherwise, for the prisoners
of each ward elect from among themselves
the person they deem most fitted to manage
their affairs. In the ward where I was, there
was a caterer who had to purchase and pay
for everything, and to collect the subsistence
money from the others. His accounts
were overlooked daily by a committee, who
checked every item. Nor was the living by any
means expensive. We had a substantial breakfast,
a good plain dinner, tea in the evening, and
cold meat if we liked with the latter, for about
two shillings a day; we were better fed than in
Bream's-buildiugs for about a tenth of the sum
we paid there. There were daily prayers said
in the chapel by the chaplain of the prison, but
out of some two hundred prisoners not more
than a dozen or so attended divine service.
Even on Sunday there were never more than
twenty or thirty present. There was a
prevalent idea that the regulation forbidding
visitors to come to the prison on Sundays—a
then recent enactment—had been framed for