fittings conveyed the impression of being connected with a charity school for mutes. The Reception Room is the first and last place a prisoner passes through; it is here that, on his arrival, he is transformed into the Queen’s livery, and again on his departure reverts to citizen’s clothing—it is, in fact, the filter through which the dregs of London have to pass before becoming sufficiently purified to be again permitted to mingle with the pure stream outside. The silence of the grave is its normal condition, where the novice receives a foretaste of the “silent system.” [Picture: The Effects of a Warm Bath at “Coldbath.”] We must have sat thus silently for at least an hour, when a door from outside was unlocked, and a warder, accompanied by two prisoners carrying sacks, made their appearance. The contents of these, being thrown on the floor, were discovered to be boots, not new ones, or even pairs, but very old and dirty, mended and patched with lumps of leather on the soles, on the heels, and, in fact, anywhere. We were now invited to “fit” ourselves, and a scramble ensued amongst a section of the prisoners. I selected a nondescript pair, tied by a cord, as unsuited a couple as ever were united, the right foot of which would have fitted an elephant, and the left have been tight for a cork leg. With this unsavoury acquisition on my lap I resumed my seat. It is the custom, as I before hinted, to show one the worst of everything at first, and the rule that applied to the cells was clearly in force regarding the boots. I found, however, that after the general “fit,” and when a comparative lull ensued, that some of the more fortunate ones had better ones supplied, and I shortly after received a new pair in exchange for my “fit.” The next thing that made its appearance was a basket full of caps and stocks. Here I was less fortunate, and the size of my head precluded the possibility of a fit. The basket was followed by a bundle of wooden labels, on each of which our various names were inscribed; with these in our hands, we were told to “Come along.” My label considerably puzzled me. We now found ourselves in the corridor devoted to baths, where each man received a bundle of clothing. The object of the label now manifested itself; it was to attach to our clothes—not likely to be wanted for some time. The bundles consisted of a pair of blue worsted socks, a blue striped shirt, a blue pocket-handkerchief the thickness of a tile, a towel as coarse as a nutmeg-grater, and a suit of clothes. The clothes, when new, are really very good, and by no means objectionable. There is nothing of that conspicuous, degrading appearance about them that distinguishes the convict dress. On the contrary, the trousers and vest are well cut, and made of good warm mole-skin; the jacket is a capital material, and were it not for painful associations, and the possibility of unpleasant