The last writer was at Dartmoor, and introduced Van Diemen’s Land because of the exigencies of rhyme. The delights of food inspire much verse, and dissatisfaction with its quality or quantity a large number of remarks:-- “I had for my dinner, ochone! ochone! One ounce of mutton and three ounce of bone!” “Here’s luck to the pint of skilly!” “Lord save me from starvashun!” “One more month then out we go, Then for feed of hot Coco; Fried Bread and steak, Plenty of Beer, Better luck than we get here.” “Cheer up, boys, down with sorrow, Beef to-day, Soup to-morrow.” “O for a pot of beer!” “Love is a great thing,” writes an Italian philosopher, “but hunger surpasses everything.” “O who can tell the panes I feel, A poor and harmless sailor, I miss my grog and every meal; Here comes the blooming jailer.” A poet, Crutchy Quinn by name, known to Mr. Davitt, and who was himself acquainted with seven of the prisons he characterises, wrote as follows with a nail on the bottom of a dinner can:-- “Millbank for thick shins and graft at the pump; Broadmoor for all laggs as go off their chump; Brixton for good toke and cocoa with fat; Dartmoor for bad grub but plenty of chat; Portsmouth, a blooming bad place for hard work; Chatham on Sunday gives four ounce of pork; Portland is worst of the lot for to joke in-- For fetching a lagging there’s no place like Woking.” Quinn, in spite of his name, was not an Irishman, but two-thirds of the prison-poets, Mr. Davitt found, are Irish. From the more miscellaneous group of sentimental, religious, moral, didactic, and reflective sayings may be quoted the following:-- “The heart may breake, yet may brokenly live on.” Mr. Davitt found a book at Newgate with “Good-bye, Lucy dear,” written throughout it, and at the end-- “Good-bye, Lucy dear, I’m parted from you for seven long year. ALF. JONES.” A poet of a more caustic school had added beneath this-- “If Lucy dear is like most gals, She’ll give few sighs or moans, But soon will find among your pals Another Alfred Jones.” Remarks against women are by no means rare, as the following given by Lombroso-- “La donna è un essere inutile; io la stima soltanto quando la ch... NAPOLEONE I. EMPEREUR.” And another Italian writes-- “He is a poor deluded fool who believes in the love and honour of women.” But the women reciprocate this sentiment, and in an Italian illustrated magazine a woman writes--