A one-legged garrotter was lately flogged; his leg, which had been amputated at the thigh, prevented his being securely tied, and his abortive struggles procured him a flogging infinitely severer than ordinarily experienced. Every blow fell on a different place, and the twenty lashes left twenty wheals, breaking the skin in a dozen different places. Sympathy with a garrotter would be out of place, and no one can doubt that he richly deserved his punishment; yet one’s bowels of compassion are instinctively moved by the description given to me by an eye-witness, of a lump of bleeding humanity alone and sobbing in a cell, and receiving at five in the afternoon a zinc plaster to apply to the back that had been torn and lacerated in the morning. This treatment in no way reflects on the prison officials, who simply carry out the regulations; it is the system that is to blame, and is capable, like the dispensation of justice before described, of considerable improvement on the score of humanity. Floggings and birchings appear to have no effect on these hardened criminals, and though they shriek and bellow during the infliction, they invariably revert to the same offence, and qualify for a second edition. Shamming madness is a favourite form of malingering indulged in by prisoners. The uneducated mind, however, invariably resorts to the same tactics—a combination between the symptoms of idiocy and hydrophobia that generally fails in its objects, and invariably yields to treatment by the cat. The boys that find their way into Coldbath are the most hardened young scamps I ever saw. They are supposed to be isolated, as required by recent agitation on the subject of juvenile offenders. That the isolation is a farce need hardly be said. At chapel they certainly occupy benches to themselves, but so do the various wards and trades; the tasks they are put to are similar to those done by adults; and the pains and penalties they undergo are identical in time and circumstance to those of the full-blown criminal. I have seen these urchins on arrival, with their knuckles in their eyes, blubbering in chapel, and a week later winking and making signs as if determined to assert their qualification to be clothed and treated like their adult fellow-prisoners.