that my new friend appeared to be thoroughly
conversant with all the details (I suspect from
personal experience) of the police and prison
system of Vienna. He told me (but I had
no means of testing the correctness of his
information) that there were twenty Ratherrn,
or Counsellors; that each had his private
chamber, and was assisted by a confidential
secretary; that every offender underwent a
private examination by the Rath appointed to
investigate his case—the Rath having the
power to call all witnesses, and to examine
them, singly, or otherwise, as he thought
proper; that on every Thursday the
"Rathsherrn" met in conclave; that each Rath
brought forward the particular cases which
he had investigated, explained all its bearings,
attested his report by documentary evidence
prepared by his secretary, and pronounced
his opinion as to the amount of punishment
to be inflicted. The question was then decided
by a majority.

On the third day, I was suddenly summoned
before the Rath, and found myself side
by side with my accuser. He was in private
clothes,

"Herr Tuci," exclaimed the Rath, trying
to pronounce my name, but utterly disguising
it, "you have misinformed me. The constable
says he did not knock your hat off—he
only pulled it off."

I adhered to my statement. The Polizerdiener
nudged my elbow, and whispered,
"Don't be alarmed—it will not go hard with
you."

"Now, constable," said the Rath; "what
harm have you suffered in this affair?"

"My uniform is stained with blood."

"From my head!" I exclaimed.

"From my nose," interposed the Polizerdiener.

"In any case it will wash out," said the
Rath.

"And you," he added, turning to me,—
"are you willing to indemnify this man for
damage done?"

I assented; and was then removed.

On the following morning I was again
summoned to the Rath's chamber. His secretary
—who was alone—met me with smiles and
congratulations: he announced to me the
sentence—four days' imprisonment. I am afraid
I did not evince that degree of pleasure which
was expected from me; but I thanked him;
was removed; and, in another hour, was
reconducted to Punishment Room, No. 1.

The four days of sentence formed the
lightest part of the adventure. My mind
was at ease: I knew the worst. Additions
to my old companions had arrived in the
interval. We had an artist among us, who
was allowed, in consideration of his talents,
to retain a sharp cutting implement fashioned
by himself from a flat piece of steel—knives
and books being, as the most dangerous objects
in prison, rigidly abstracted from us. He
manufactured landscapes in straw, gummed
upon pieces of blackened wood. Straw was
obtained, in a natural state, of green, yellow,
and brown; and these, when required, were
converted into differently-tinted reds, by a
few hours' immersion in the Kiefel. He also
kneaded bread in the hand, until it became as
hard and as plastic as clay. This he modelled
into snuff-boxes, (with strips of rag for hinges,
and a piece of whalebone for a spring,)
draughts, chess-men, pipe-bowls, and other
articles. When dry, they became hard and
serviceable; and he sold them among the
prisoners and the prison officials. He
obtained thus a number of comforts not afforded
by the prison regulations.

On Sunday, I attended the Catholic chapel
attached to the prison—a damp unwholesome
cell. I stood among a knot of prisoners,
enveloped in a nauseous vapour; whence
arose musty, mouldy, rotten, effluvia which
gradually overpowered my senses. I felt
them leaving me, and tottered towards the
door. I was promptly met by a man who
seemed provided for emergencies of the kind;
for, he held a vessel of cold water; poured
some of it into my hands, and directed me to
bathe my temples. I partly recovered; and,
faint and dispirited, staggered back to the
prison. I had not, however, lain long upon
my bed (polished and slippery from constant
use), when the prison guard came to my
side, holding in his hand a smoking basin of
egg soup "for the Englishman." It was sent
by the mistress of the kitchen. I received the
offering of a kind heart to a foreigner in
trouble, with a blessing on the donor.

On the following Tuesday, after an
imprisonment, of, in all, nine days, during which
I had never slept without my clothes, I was
discharged from the prison. In remembrance
of the place, I brought away with me a straw
landscape and a bread snuff-box, the works
of the prison artist.

On reaching my lodging I looked into my
box. It was empty.

"Where are my books and papers?" I
asked my landlord.

The police had taken them on the day after
my arrest.

"And my bank-notes?"

"Here they are!" exclaimed my landlord,
triumphantly. "I expected the police; I
knew you had money somewhere, so I took
the liberty of searching until I found it. The
police made particular inquiries about your
cash, and went away disappointed, taking the
other things with them."

"Would they have appropriated it?"

"Hem! Very likely,—under pretence of
paying your expenses."

On application to the police of the district,
I received the whole of my effects back. One
of my books was detained for about a week;
a member of the police having taken it home
to read, and being, as I apprehend, a slow
reader.

It was matter of great astonishment, both