modern gaoler stand on end; and even the considerate Governor Chapman was forced to reprimand the matrons for this gross neglect of duty. A little later Miller confessed her fraud. After school at night, she had managed to secrete herself in an unoccupied cell. No one missed her; and about eleven, coming out, she commenced to wander up and down the ward, going from cell to cell knocking. “Who’s there?” “Miller.” “Where have you come from?” “I have jumped out of the window, and got back through the gates, which were left open.” “Go back to your cell, for goodness’ sake.” “I can’t get in, the door is locked.” “Call up the matron then.” “I daren’t.” Such was the conversation overheard by others. About three o’clock, Miller could stand it no longer, and woke the matron of the ward. One other case of misconduct among the females which occurred some months afterward may be mentioned here. This was the discovery of a conspiracy which at first sight seemed of rather serious dimensions. Its apparent object was to murder the chaplain, the matron, and a female officer named Bateman, all of whom had incurred the rancour of certain of the worst prisoners. One day in chapel an officer noticed much nudging and winking between two or three of the women, one of whom afterwards came up to her, as she stood by the altar rails, and said, “There’s a conspiracy going on.” “Where?” asked the matron. “In a bag.” “A bag? Who’s got it?” “Jones.” And in effect, upon Jones was found a bag of white linen, six inches by four, and inside it a strip of bright yellow serge, such as the “first class” women wore. On this yellow ground was worked in black letters, as a sampler might be, the following:— “Stab balling (bawling) Bateman, dam matron too, and parson; no justis now, may they brile in hell and their favrits too. God bless the governor; but this makes us devils. Shan’t care what we do—20 of us sworn to drink and theve in spite—get a place—rob and bolt. Make others pay for this. Shan’t fear any prison or hel after this. Can’t suffer more. Some of us meen to gulp the sakrimint, good blind: they swear they’ll burk the matron when they get out, and throw her in the river. No justis. Destroy this. No fear. All swer to die; but don’t split, be firm, stic to yor othe, and all of ye, stab them all. Watch yor time—stab am to the hart in chaple; get round them and they can’t tell who we mean to stab.”