well known, many creatures are found, not only to be alive with vermin, but suffering from itch. With these facts, that are not to be gainsaid, common sense surely suggests a medical examination _before_ instead of _after_ the bath, an arrangement which, however disagreeable to the surgeons, would be a considerable benefit to the prison inmates generally. It is a common occurrence for men who have been in prison three, and even six months, to be found to be suffering from itch, and it is equally certain that they caught it in these baths, which are _pro bono publico_ once a fortnight. I thank God I was spared any of these “plagues,” though I never took my periodical dip without finding my thoughts wandering to Scotland and the Argyll (not Bignell’s). Having joined my companions we were reconducted to the reception-room, which by this time was crowded by contributions from the various Police-courts. My Newgate friend Mike was now thoroughly in his element; he appeared to take a pride in showing his intimacy with the etiquette of the place, and seemed quite hurt if a warder didn’t recognize him as an old acquaintance. As I looked down the benches now fully occupied, I fancied I could have distinguished every new comer from the _habitué_ by the way they wore their caps. The new hands put them on in such a manner that they resembled a quartern loaf, whilst the more experienced—such as Mike—cocked them with a jaunty air as if proud of the effect. At a later period I observed that a great deal of vanity existed on the subject of toilet amongst the regular jail-birds: they plastered down their hair—as I know—with the greasy skimmings of their soup, or applications of suet pudding; and many—incredible as it may appear—shaved regularly with their tin knives and the back of a plate for a mirror. Hair-cutting now commenced, and anyone whose hair was too long was effectually operated on. It is a mistake to suppose that prisoners’ hair is cut in the barbarous manner that is applied to convicts; nothing is done to them beyond what a soldier has to submit to—namely, having his hair and beard of moderate length. As I have all through life kept what I have as close as possible, the hair-cutting in my case was dispensed with, and through the subsequent few months I had always to ask for the services of the barber, and invariably received the same reply—“Surely, yours is short enough!” There was one item in the crop I was never subjected to—probably because my moustache was small—but which I certainly should not have liked; it was the habit of clipping the ends square to the lip. I’ve often seen men in London and elsewhere with this distinctive crop, which I should now invariably associate with prison life; and if I met a Bishop who affected this style it would be difficult to convince me that I had not met him “elsewhere.” The next person that intruded himself was—as I was informed—a chaplain. His attire was far from clerical, and