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R eaders of Charles Dickens must all have remarked the deep and abiding interest he took in that grim accessory to civilization, the prison. He not only went jail hunting whenever opportunity offered, but made a profound study of the rules, practices and abuses of these institutions. Penology was, in fact, one of his hobbies, and some of the most powerful passages in his books are those which have their scene of action laid within the shadow of the gaol. It was this fact which led to the compila

N ewgate was the first prison to which Charles Dickens gave any literary attention. An account of a visit to it appears among the early “Sketches by Boz.” It is also the only one of the London jails of which he has left us graphic descriptions, or briefer, spirited sketches, which preserves to-day so much of its original character as to be identifiable in detail by the student of his works. The Fleet and the King’s Bench have disappeared. The Marshalsea may only be recognized by slight surviving

T he entrance to Newgate is through the keeper’s lodge, which, with the house in which the keeper lives, occupies the centre of what has been well called “this vast quarry of stone.” It fronts on the Old Bailey. The prisoner’s quarters are in the wings, which extend from either side of the keeper’s quarters. In the gloomy office, men with that indescribable prison air all such officials bear, lounge about, and come and go on business. There is iron everywhere, from the huge bolts on the outer do

H alf a century ago, a stroller about the London streets whose loiterings carried him to the Fleet Market, could not but notice in the brick wall that extended along what is now entitled Farringdon street, facing the market, a wide-grated window, set in a framework of granite blocks. Under the arched top of the framework, between it and the grating, a stone slab or panel bore the carved inscription: “Please Remember Poor Debtors, Having No Allowance.” Through the grating one might look into a sq

I t was a good seven years—or an evil seven—for many a poor debtor, after the Fleet was legislated out of existence, before its younger brother on the other side of the river followed it. The Marshalsea was not officially abolished until 1849, and even then it escaped the doom of extinction meted out to the Fleet, and prolonged its material existence into our own day. What had been a frowsy jail became a frowsy shelter for a community scarcely poorer than that which had once inhabited it; albeit

I n the “Pickwick Papers” the Fleet Prison was made to serve as an important feature of the story. In “Little Dorrit,” the story as far as its human interest, humor and pathos are concerned, centres in the Marshalsea. The introduction of the King’s Bench into “David Copperfield” is entirely episodic, but it makes one of the most brilliant chapters in the book, and, from its personal connection with the author’s own life, one of the most important. That Dickens drew largely on his own experience

“What is this dismal-fronted pile of bastard Egyptian, like an enchanter’s palace in a melodrama? A famous prison called the Tombs. Shall we go in? “So. A long, narrow and lofty building, stove-heated as usual, with four galleries, one above the other, going round it, and communicating by stairs. Between the two sides of each gallery, and in its center, a bridge for the greater convenience of crossing. On each of these bridges sits a man, dozing or reading, or talking to an idle companion. On ea

I n Philadelphia Dickens made a special request for permission to visit the great prison of the State, remarking that it and the Falls of Niagara were the two objects he most wished to see in America. Exceptional facilities were afforded him to gratify his desire, and make his investigation as thorough as he chose. Nothing was concealed from him, and his account and opinion of the Eastern State Penitentiary (“American Notes,” Chapter 7) created a vast deal of comment in their day. He put himself