The cadaverous-looking man was the first to be removed. He looked so weak, so borne down, that even the officials regarded him with something like compassion. To their credit we must record that they treated him with kindness and consideration――that is, as far as the rigid prison discipline would allow. Peace was told to follow a warder. The bumps on his head were still very painful, and, taken altogether, he presented a most pitiable and abject appearance. He said to his janitor, as they went along, that he had been most cruelly used, and told him, moreover, that he was perfectly innocent of the charge upon which he had been committed. The warder was so accustomed to hear statements of a similar character from prisoners that he did not take much heed of Peace’s declaration of innocence. He merely nodded, and ushered his prisoner into a stone cellar-like place, where there were a number of small rooms with baths in them. Peace was directed to enter one and undress. He obeyed without making any observation, knowing well enough, from his former experience of prison life, that it would be useless to offer any objection. When he had undressed his clothes were taken from him, and underwent a careful scrutiny――the pockets in the garments were turned out, and all prohibited articles removed. All this was done in a methodical, systematical way. An inventory of these things was taken, and Peace was told that any of his friends, on calling to see him, might take them away. “I don’t know why I should be stripped of all I possess, but if it’s the rule I suppose there’s no use murmuring,” said Peace. “It is the rule,” quietly observed the warder. “You are treated precisely the same as all the other prisoners. Now you must have a bath.” “I’ve no objection to that,” cried Peace. The bath room was scrupulously clean; the water looked as clear as crystal, and Peace plunged in. On re-dressing, he was conducted by the warder up a flight of stairs into a large, lofty hall, on each side of which were galleries. In each gallery was a warder in uniform. With the exception of the halls and corridors the building was almost entirely divided into an immense number of small apartments. These were homely inside, but exquisitely clean. Prisons at this time might be said to be in a transition state. In some the old system remained in full force. The two systems vary in their aims. Under the old, prisoners awaiting their trials were allowed to mix together in wards. In such places as these the criminals of the olden times――common thieves, pickpockets, burglars, and others――had, no doubt, many of them, in their own way, a jolly time of it. They were supplied with provisions by their pals and relatives, and were not compelled to live on prison fare. As many as twenty would be found at times in one of these wards under the old system, which were nurseries of crime――so it is said――the old hardened felon contaminating the young and inexperienced.