report was drawn up and presented to the Society by Mr. Shute, one of its earliest and most active members.1 To visit the prisoners had long been regarded as one of the Church's "works of mercy," and it is interesting to find this charitable work included among the practices to be followed by the early " Methodists" in the days of " the holy club" at Oxford. This was in 1730, just after the appointment of a Parliamentary Committee, of which General Oglethorpe was the chairman, to make inquiries into the condition of prisoners and the state of prisons. The inquiry revealed the most appalling state of things, but still nothing seems to have come of it; ; 1 nor were any further practical measures taken for prison reform in this country until 1773, when Mr. Popham introduced the Bill already alluded to, and Howard commenced his researches. Before this, however, the Marquis Beccaria had published in Italy in 1764 his Treatise on Crimes and Punishments, which was

And crush'd out lives, by secret barbarous ways,
That for their country would have toiled or bled.
O great design! if executed well,
With patient care and wisdom-tempered zeal.
Ye sons of mercy! yet resume the search;
Drag forth the legal monsters into light,
Wrench from their hands Oppression's iron rod,
And bid the cruel feel the pains they give.
Much still untouch'd remains; in this rank age,
Much is the patriot's weeding hand required.
The toils of law, -what dark insidious men
Have cumbrous added to perplex the truth,
And lengthen simple justice into trade,-
How glorious were the day that saw these broke,

And every man within the reach of right!" The first edition of "Winter" was published in 1726, and these lines were added in the edition of 1730, as was also the passage beginning, "Ah, little think the gay licentious proud," an extract from which Howard placed on the title page of his book.

1 The need of classification of prisoners, of the exclusion of all sorts of revel-mirth" from places where offenders are confined, of "labour and low diet," and religious instruction, were forcibly pointed out by Bishop Butler in his Spital sermon, preached before the Lord Mayor in 1740. See Butler's Works (ed., Halifax) vol. ii. p. 308.

translated into English two years later. Whether this work was known to Howard before he began his labours we cannot tell. He certainly was acquainted with it later, and greatly valued it, for he refers to it constantly in his own books, But, in any case, the work had not led to any reform in the condition of our prisons when he started on his career; and it is impossible to exaggerate the horrors which he discovered and disclosed.

To begin with, the construction of the buildings used as prisons was as bad as it could possibly be. As often as not they opened right on to the streets, so that the barred windows, to which the wretched inmates crowded for light and air were easily accessible to the passers-by. This naturally led to constant communication between these confined in gaol and their friends outside. Beer and spirituous liquors were freely introduced, the keepers calmly replying to any remonstrances with a confession of their helplessness to prevent the practice. Every encouragement was given to attempts at escape, for nothing was easier than for an accomplice to introduce a file, or even to assist in filing through the bars. Thus Howard notes of Leeds town gaol, which consisted of " four rooms fronting the street, 12 feet by 9, and a smaller one," that "two deserters lately escaped by filing the bars. Since the windows are double-barred so that no files can be conveyed to the prisoners."1 In consequence of this, and also of the ruinous and dilapidated condition into which the prisons were allowed to fall, through the unwillingness of the authorities to spend money upon them, the gaolers frequently had recourse to irons, in order to prevent their prisoners from escaping. Men and even women were "chained to staples fixedlin the barrack bedsteads," or dragged after them "chains and logs."2 In one case, where there had been several escapes, owing to the fact that the prison was out of repair, Howard actually "found that the magistrates had sent to the keeper a number of thumb-screws for securing prisoners." 3

It is scarcely necessary to say that the rooms were badly lighted and badly ventilated. It was the time of the iniquitous window tax ; and, as gaolers were required to pay this out of their own pocket, the result was what might have been expected. "This," says Howard, "tempts them to stop the windows and stifle the prisoners." 4 The buildings were frequently so decayed and ruinous as to be utterly unfit for human habitation; the floor was generally damp; sometimes there was "an inch or two of water" upon it; and the straw or bedding was laid on such floors. 5 Proper sanitary provision was almost unknown. At Knaresboro', Howard on his first visit found a single room, about 12 feet square, with a window 17 inches by 6, used as the prison for town debtors, and writes of it as follows:

"Earth floor; no fireplace; very offensive; a common sewer from the town running through it uncovered. I was informed that an officer, confined here some years since for only a few days, took in with him a dog, to defend him from vermin; but the dog was soon destroyed, and the prisoner's face much disfigured by them."1

At Plymouth was a den of horror, known as The Clink:

"Fifteen feet by 8 feet 3 inches, and about 5 feet high, with a wicket in the door, 7 inches by 5, to admit light and air. To this, as I was informed, three men who were confined near two months, under sentence of transportation, came by turns for breath. The door had not been opened for five weeks, when I with difficulty entered to see a pale inhabitant. He had been there ten weeks, under sentence of transportation, and said he had much rather have been hanged than confined in that noisome cell. In another room (13 feet by 51, and 6 feet 9 inches high, the window only 18 inches by 14, and the wall 2 feet 8 inches thick), at my last visit there were two prisoners; one of whom assured me he had been there upwards 1 The State of Prisons, p. 413.