as those we have described just now, are good
precisely in proportion to the means they
offer for the manufacture of the raw material
of thieves into honest artisans. And it is
not only by ragged schools that this is done.
Even while we write, our mind contains the
fresh impression of a visit to an unobtrusive
London institution, at which a great deal of
the same kind of good is done in another way.
The pupils in this school are not simply the
children of the wretched poor, many of whom
have only a life of crime before them, but
already convicted thieves. The place itself is
a den of thieves—happily penitent.

We have walked up and down the New
Road many hundreds of times; but it was
only the other day—because we made a
special search for it—that we noticed the
name of the Preventive and Reformatory
Institution, painted in white, at the corner of
Gower Street North. At the locality that
had been indicated to us we saw nothing but
a rather handsome cabinetmaker's shop, with
customers in it. A beadle, in awful array of
cocked hat, staff, and gold-laced coat, was
standing over the way. We crossed, and
diffidently requested him, as an official person,
to direct us to Mr. Bowyer's Preventive and
Reformatory Institution. He knew nothing
about it. We described it as a place where
ill-conducted boys and young thieves were
taken in to be mended. No; he had never
heard of it. And the stupid creature, with
the uniform upon his asinine person blazing
in the sunshine, looked at us as though
we had insulted the majesty of the law by
mentioning a thief to him. A respectable
tradesman, to whom we next applied, seemed
to have a better opinion of the place, and
pointed it out with alacrity. The cabinet-
maker's shop itself was the establishment we
sought.

Passing through the shop, we were
conducted into a workroom behind, where several
young men were at work upon different
articles of cabinet ware, similar to those
exposed for sale, which were also of their
workmanship. They all touched their
caps as we entered, and looked like
respectable artisans. "But where are the
thieves?"—"They are here," replied our
conductor; "all of whom you see have been in
prison; and that boy," pointing to a bright-
looking, intelligent lad, "was a regularly
trained thief, and one of the best hands at
that trade in London." A friend with us
remarked upon the intelligence of their faces.
"Why, yes," he replied, slightly laughing,
"they have all lived by their wits till they
are somewhat sharper than is needful." We
were then conducted to a carpenters' shed
where heavier work was going on. One little
fellow, who was sitting outside upon a bench,
with a log before him, into which he was
driving a chisel with great zeal, looked up at
us with a comical twinkle in his eyes, as much
as to say, "Arn't it a fine lark to think of
me coming here!" He too was an old
acquaintance with the police. From the
carpenters' we went to the smiths' place, where
everything bespoke great activity; and the
sweat was pouring down the men's faces in a
way that answered for the vigour of their
labour. There are tailors and shoemakers
also in the establishment, but we did not
visit them.

We went into the kitchen, and there we
learnt that everything, from the kettles to the
kitchen range, had been made on the premises.
We then mounted up to one of the sleeping-
rooms. It contained more beds than was
absolutely desirable, but that could not in the
present state of things have been avoided.
Each inmate has a separate iron bed; everything
is clean; and the room is airy and well-
ventilated. We visited, last, the refectory and
school-room: a long, whitewashed apartment.
Wooden benches and tables, and bookshelves
containing some well-chosen books, completed
the furniture. Here we sat down and began
to ask questions. What are the rules? and
how is the time spent?

The inmates rise at half-past five, and are
allowed to go out of doors where they please
until seven. Then they meet in the school-
room, and have instruction in reading and
writing, &c., until a quarter to eight o'clock,
which is the time for prayers and breakfast.
From half-past eight until one, they are kept
hard at work. They have an hour for dinner
and amusement; then follows hard work
again until six o'clock; when there is an hour
allowed for tea and recreation. After seven,
there is secular instruction until it is time
for prayers and bed. The day ends at a
quarter to ten. A very good mixture, on the
whole, of

          Books and work and healthful play,

as good Doctor Watts sings. Admission into
the society is not difficult to any who apply
for it. The only limitations are the funds of
the establishment. The inmates are of all
ages above sixteen. They come entirely with
their own consent, and there is nothing to
prevent their leaving at any moment if they
please. They consist of convicted criminals—
thieves, who, from attendance at the ragged
schools, or any other cause, acquire a wish to
leave their ugly mode of life, and try a
handsomer. Some are youths struggling on the
brink of vice and wishing to keep honest.
Of late years, notices of this institution have
been put up in different prisons, in order
that prisoners desiring to lead an honest life
may know where to apply. Sometimes the
candidates are chosen by the chaplains, and
with these pupils of industry the government
pays five shillings a-week. As soon as a
boy enters, he is put to a given trade; if
he shows no aptness for that, he is put to
another.

As for the discipline, the boys themselves
are appealed to, and depended upon, to