their quilts; rows of tin cans were seen to
hang in one corner of the room against boards
nailed to the walls. A large crucifix was
placed conspicuously upon another wall; the
windows were large and cheerful; the room
was cheerful. But that row of distorted, uncouth,
mal-formed, and but partially developed
heads; those white, sallow countenances; those
eyes glancing furtively towards you, or sunk
in a stupor upon the unceasing, slender
threads, drawn from the distaffs by manly
fingers; those heavy chains and the perfect
silence, save of the wheel and the little treddle,
were not cheerful. It was the first time I
had ever been in a prison, or had looked upon
any great criminals, at least knowing them to
be such. The first sensation, therefore, was
very strange; here were men guilty of enormous
crimes, men who had murdered in diabolical
ways, at liberty as it seemed. There
was no unlocking and locking of doors; you
saw there men moving about as though they
were ordinary workmen. The unusual occupation
of spinning for men did strike you, it
is true; the ill-formed faces struck you, and
the chains, when you caught sight of them;
but you had to remind yourself that on each
of these souls lay the weight of some fearful
crime.

One man passed out in his grey jacket and
with the chain round his waist. "He," said
the gentleman with us, as we walked down
the gallery, "is one of the men who murdered
a priest two years ago; he is confined here for
life."

"But how," asked I, "can you trust that
man to go about unattended?—how is it that
these doors are all unlocked and unbarred?
—what is to prevent their escaping? The
walls are not high in the court-yard; all seems
open; excepting for a few soldiers, there
appears no obstacle to their escape. Do none
make their escape?"

"Now and then," replied he, "but very
rarely. This is a prison; and, of course, where
is the man who would not escape if he could?
But they are always overtaken; we have
bloodhounds trained for the purpose. Such
cases are very rare."

We saw room after room filled with
prisoners; now they were making shoes;
now they were tailoring; now weaving table-
linen; now cloth:—now we went into a dye-
house; now into a carpenter's shop. All
were silently, busily at work; all had the
same grave look; all, with but two, or at the
most, three exceptions, were countenances of
the most coarse description. There were
youths, and old men, and middle-aged men,
but all worked apparently at perfect freedom,
often with wide open doors, often in the open
court-yard.

It was a startling thing to see murderers
wielding hammers, and sawing with saws,
and cutting with sharp-edged tools, when you
remembered they were murderers, and how
some tyrant passion had once aroused the
fiend within them, though now again he
seemed laid to rest by years of quiet toil.
Our guide informed us, that very rarely
did any disobedience or passion show itself
among the prisoners after the first few months,
or the first year of their imprisonment. The
constant employment from early morning to
evening; the silence imposed, most strictly,
during their hours of toil; the routine, the
gradual dying out of all external interests and
anxieties; seemed to sink them into a passive
calm, until industry became their only characteristic.
On Sundays, they are allowed to
read books out of the prison library and to
play at dominoes, and enjoy various simple
recreations. There is a school for the younger
criminals, and a hospital for the sick, of
course. The only punishment for disobedience
to prison rules is a longer or shorter period of
solitary confinement in a small room, which
was shown to us, containing a hard wooden
bed, very like a low table, on which the
prisoner can both lie and sit, a stove, and a
closely grated window, which is darkened
while the prisoner is in his cell; he has his
allowance of food shortened and is left there
to his own reflections.

We saw a prisoner in his chains putting
the loaves of prison bread into a large oven to
bake; prisoners in white caps and aprons
were preparing the prison supper in the large
clean kitchen: one group was sitting and
silently picking the leaves of vegetables to
flavour the soup, which was boiling in large
caldrons, and was stirred by other prisoners
with huge ladles; all moved gravely about,
apparently without being overlooked. In each
room, however, was a kind of prisoner
monitor, whose office was to report upon the
conduct of his companions; and this species
of mutual watchfulness kept up among the
prisoners themselves seemed, according to
the report of our informant, to answer remarkably
well.

In some rooms, you saw prisoners turning
huge wheels, which worked the cloth-weaving
machines below, whilst the machines themselves
were fed and tended by other prisoners.
The whole place was a great manufactory
and series of workshops, where, from five in
the morning in summer, six in the winter,
and till seven at night, no sound was heard
but that of the machinery! After work
hours they were permitted to talk.

I regret not having asked at the time
whether there is any visible sign of moral
amendment in these poor, unhappy wretches
—whether friendships spring up among those
condemned to spend their whole lives together
in this prison—whether traits of kindness
were shown among them—what was the
average result of this mode of punishment?
—and various other questions, which now suggest
themselves to me.

I was curious to know whether the prisoners
were quick in acquiring a knowledge
of the different trades carried on in the prison;