Well, in the Devil's rambles he came across Cold Bath Fields Prison--which, as I have said, was not beloved of the criminal class, and, simply, as I think, for the sake of saying something smart, and not that they ever had experienced incarceration, or is there any evidence that they had even seen the prison, they write: "As he passed through Cold Bath Fields he look'd At a solitary Cell; And he was well-pleased, for it gave him a hint For improving the prisons of Hell. He saw a turnkey tie a thief's hands With a cordial try and a jerk; Nimbly, quoth he, a man's fingers move When his heart is in his work. He saw the same turnkey unfettering a man With little expedition; And he chuckled to think of his dear slave trade, And the long debates, and delays that were made Concerning its abolition." There is very little doubt, however, that, in the closing year of last, and the commencing one of this, century, the conduct of the Governor--a man named Aris--was open to very grave censure. People outside imagined that all sorts of evils were being perpetrated within its walls, and, either through laxity, or too great severity, of discipline, something nigh akin to mutiny occurred in the prison in July, 1800--which was promptly stopped by the presence of a company of the Clerkenwell Volunteers. In August of the same year, there was another outbreak in the prison, the occupants shouting "Murder," and that they were being starved, in tones loud enough to be heard outside, and, once more the Volunteers were the active agents in enforcing law and order. This latter "seething of the pot" lasted a few days, and it culminated in the discharge of the obnoxious Governor Aris. There is nothing noteworthy to chronicle of this prison from that date,[44] all prison details being, necessarily, unsavoury--and this particular one was not watered with rose water. It was a place of hard work, and not likely to impress the unproductive class, with a wish to be permanent inhabitants thereof. Yet, as this present year witnessed its demolition, something more must be said respecting it. In the _Globe_ newspaper of January 1, 1887, is this short paragraph: "Notices were yesterday posted on the walls of Coldbath Fields Prison, intimating that it is for sale. Tenders are invited for the site, and all buildings, &c., contained within the boundary walls. The prison covers an area of eight acres and three quarters." There ought to be some record of its dying days, for the demolition of a prison in a large community of people, like ours in London, must mean one of two things, either a diminution of crime, or, that the prison is not suitable to the requirements of the age. The Ninth Report of the Commissioners of Prisons, for the Year ended March 31, 1886, speaking of Pentonville Prison, says: