_November 27th._—Yesterday I visited the prison where the wife of the chief of police had invited me to see some of the carved articles, straw work, &c., made by the prisoners. I had expected to be pained, because I thought, from the retrograde character of things in general here, the prison system would be bad. But the climate in these hot countries regulates the prison life in some degree. Men cannot be shut up in close, dark cells, without endangering not only their own lives, but the sanitary condition of the establishment also. Therefore the prison is light and airy, with plenty of doors and windows, secured by bars, but not otherwise closed. I infer, however, from a passage on the prisons of the province, contained in one of the able reports of President Adolfo de Barros (1864), that within the last year there has been a great improvement, at least in the prison of Manaos. He says: “The state of the prisons exceeds all that can be said to their disadvantage. Not only is it true that there is not to be found throughout the province a prison which fulfils the conditions imposed by the law, but there is not one which deserves the name of prison with the exception of that in the capital. And even this one, while it does not possess one of the conditions exacted by similar institutions, contains so disproportionate a number of prisoners of all classes, so indiscriminately mingled, that, setting aside the other difficulties arising from this association, it is only by the mercy of Providence that the jail has not been converted into a focus of epidemics during the great heat prevailing in this city for a great part of the year. In four small rooms, insufficiently ventilated and lighted, are assembled forty prisoners (including the sick) of various classes and conditions. Without air, without cleanliness, almost without room to move in their smothered and damp enclosure, these unhappy beings, against all precepts of law and humanity, suffer far more than the simple and salutary rigor of punishment.” These strictures must have led to a great amendment, for the prison does not now appear to be deficient in light or in ventilation, and there is a hospital provided apart for the sick. Some of the prisoners, especially those who were there for political offences, having been concerned in a recent revolt at Serpa, were very heavily ironed; but, excepting this, there were no signs, visible at least to the transient observer, of cruelty or neglect. After some remarks on the best modes of reforming these abuses and the means to be employed for that object, Dr. Adolfo goes on to speak of the ruinous condition of the prisons in other cities of the province. “Such is the state of the prison in the town of Teffé. The edifice in which it is established is an old and crumbling house, belonging to the municipality, thatched with straw, and so ruinous, that it seemed to me, when I visited it, rather like a deserted habitation than like a