THE time at length approached when a radical and complete change was to come over the old city gaol. It was impossible for Newgate to escape for ever the influences pressing so strongly towards prison reform. Elsewhere the spirit had been more or less active, although not uniformly or always to the same extent. There had been a pause in legislation, except of a permissive kind. The 2nd and 3rd Victoria, cap. 56 (1839) laid it down that individuals might be confined separately and apart in single cells. By other acts local authorities were empowered to construct new gaols or hire accommodation in the district; but no steps had been taken in Parliament to enforce a better system of discipline, or to insist upon the construction of prisons on the most approved plan. As regards the first, however, Sir James Graham, when Home Secretary in 1843, had appointed a committee of prison inspectors, presided over by the Under Secretary of State, to draw up rules and dietaries, which were then recommended to and generally adopted by the visiting justices all over the kingdom. As regards the second, the Government had set a good example, and in deciding upon the erection of Pentonville prison had embarked on a considerable expenditure in order to provide a model prison for general imitation. The first stone of Pentonville prison was laid on the 10th April, 1840, by the Marquis of Normanby, then Home Secretary, and the prison, which contained five hundred and twenty cells, was occupied on the 21st December, 1842. This building was a costly affair. The site was uneven, and had to be levelled; moreover, the gross expenditure was increased “partly from its being considered necessary, as it was a national prison, to make a great archway, and to make the character of it more imposing than if it had been situated in the country, and had been an ordinary prison.”[127] Up to the 21st December, 1842, with the additions made to that date, the total expenditure amounted to nearly £90,000, or about £180 per cell. On the other hand, it must be admitted that this was an experimental construction, and that too strict a limitation of outlay would have militated seriously against the usefulness of the building. Nor must it be overlooked that this, the first model prison, although obtained at a considerable cost, became actually what its name implied. Pentonville has really been the model on which all subsequent prison construction has been based. All prisons at home and abroad are but variations, of course with the added improvements following longer experience, of the pattern originated by the architectural genius of Sir Joshua Jebb. The internal arrangements of the new model were carefully supervised by a body of distinguished men, among which were many peers, Lord John Russell, Mr. Shaw-Lefevre, the Speaker of the House of Commons, Sir Benjamin Brodie, Major Jebb, R.E., and the two prison inspectors, Messrs. Crawford and Russell, with whose names the reader is already familiar. Major, afterwards Sir Joshua Jebb, was the moving spirit among these commissioners, and he is now generally recognized as the originator of modern prison architecture.

The movement thus laudably initiated by the Government soon spread to the provinces. Some jurisdictions, greatly to their credit, strove at once to follow the lead of the central authority. Within half-a-dozen years no less than fifty-four new prisons were built on the Pentonville plan, others were in progress, and the total number of separate cells provided amounted to eleven thousand odd. This list included Wakefield, Leeds, Kirkdale, Manchester, Birmingham, and Dublin. Liverpool was building a new prison with a thousand cells, the county of Surrey one with seven hundred. The cost in each varied considerably, the general average being from £120 to £130 per cell. At Pentonville the rate was higher, but there the expense had been increased by the site, the difficulty of access, and the admitted necessity of giving architectural importance to this the national model prison.[128] Other jurisdictions were less prompt to recognize their responsibilities, the city of London among the number, as I shall presently show at length. These were either satisfied with a makeshift, and modified existing buildings, without close regard to their suitability, or for a long time did nothing at all. Among the latter were notably the counties of Cheshire, Lincolnshire, Norfolk, Suffolk, Nottinghamshire, the East and North Ridings of Yorkshire. The south and west of England were also very laggard, and many years were still to elapse before the prisons in these parts were properly reconstituted.

Not less remarkable than this diverse interpretation of a manifest duty was the variety of views as regards the discipline to be introduced in these new prisons. The time was one when thoughtful people who concerned themselves closely with social questions were greatly exercised as to the best system of treating the inmates of a gaol. A new and still imperfectly understood science had arisen, the principles of which were debated by disputants of widely opposite opinions with an earnestness that sometimes bordered upon acrimony. One school were strongly in favour of the continuous separation of prisoners, the other supported the theory of labour in association, but under a stringent rule of silence, with isolation only at night. Both systems came to us from the United States. The difference was really more in degree than in principle, and our modern practice has prudently tried to steer between the two extremes, accepting as the best system a judicious combination of both. But about 1850 the two sides were distinctly hostile, and the controversy ran high. High authorities were in favour of continuous separation. Colonel Jebb preferred it; Messrs. Crawford and Whitworth Russell were convinced that the complete isolation of criminals from one another was the true basis of a sound system of prison discipline. Prison chaplains of experience and high repute, such as Messrs. Field, Clay, Kingsmill, Burt, and Osborne, also advocated it. It was claimed for it that it was more deterrent; that in districts where it was the rule, evil-doers especially dreaded coming under its irksome conditions. Another argument was, that it afforded more hope of the reformation of criminals. The system of associated labour in silence had also its warm supporters, who maintained that under this system prisoners were more industrious and more healthy; that their condition was more natural, and approximated more nearly to that of daily life. Better industrial results were obtained from it, and instruction in trades was easier, and prisoners were more likely to leave gaol with the means of earning an honest livelihood if so disposed. The opposing champions were not slow to find faults and flaws in the system they condemned. Separation was injurious to health, mental or physical, said one side; men broke down when subjected to it for more than a certain period, and it was unsafe to fix this limit above twelve months, although some rash advocates were in favour of eighteen months, some indeed of two years. The other side retorted that the system of associated labour was most costly, so many officers being required to maintain the discipline of silence; moreover, it was nearly impossible to prevent communication and mutual contamination.

It is scarcely necessary to follow the controversy further. I have only introduced the subject as showing how little as yet the State was impressed with the necessity for authoritative interference. The legislature was content to let local jurisdictions experimentalize for themselves; with the strange, anomalous result, that a thief or other criminal might be quite differently treated according as he was incarcerated on one side or another of a border line. This variety was often extended to all branches of prison economy. There was an absolute want of uniformity in dietaries; in some prisons it was too liberal, in others too low. The amount of exercise varied from one or two hours daily to half the working day. The cells inhabited by prisoners were of very varying dimensions; some were not sufficiently ventilated, others were warmed artificially, and were unwholesomely close. The use of gas or some other means of lighting might be adopted, but more often was dispensed with. In a great number of prisons no provision was made for the education of prisoners, in some others there was a sufficient staff of schoolmasters and instructors. The discipline also varied greatly, from the severely penal to the culpably lax. The greatest pains might be taken to secure isolation, the prisoners might be supervised and watched at every step, and made liable to punishment for a trifling breach of an irksome code of regulations, or they might herd together or communicate freely as in the old worst days. They might see each other when they liked, and converse sotto voce, or make signs; or the chances of recognizing or being recognized were reduced to a minimum by the use of a mask.[129] There was no general rule of employment. Hard labour was often not insisted upon in separate confinement; sometimes it embraced the tread-wheel or the newly-invented instruments known as cranks, which ground air. The alternative between labour or idleness, or the selection of the form of labour, were mere matters of chance, and decided according to the views of the local magistracy. They were approved of and employed at some prisons, at others objected to because they were unproductive, and because the machine was often so imperfect that the amount of effort could not be exactly regulated. Opinions differed greatly with regard to the tread-wheel; some authorities advocated it as a very severe and irksome punishment, which was yet under full control, and might be made to work corn-mills or prove otherwise productive; other authorities as strongly condemned it as brutalizing, unequal in its operation, and altogether a “deplorable invention.”

This want of uniformity in prison discipline became ere long an acknowledged evil pressing for some remedy, and the question was once more taken up in the House of Commons. In 1849 Mr. Charles Pearson, M.P., moved for a committee to report upon the best means of securing some uniform system which should be “punitive, reformatory, and self-supporting;” but the session was far advanced, and the matter was relegated to the following year. In 1850 Sir George Grey brought forward a new motion to the same effect, which was promptly carried, with the additional instruction to the committee to suggest any improvements. The latter had reference more especially to a proposal emanating from Mr. Charles Pearson himself. That gentleman had come to the conclusion that the ordinary and hackneyed methods of treatment were practically inefficacious, and that a new system of prison discipline should be introduced. His plan was to devote the whole labour of prisoners sentenced to any term between three months and four years to agriculture. District prisons were to be established for this purpose, each of which would be in the heart of a farm of a thousand acres. The prisoners were to cultivate the land and raise sufficient produce for their own support. Mr. Pearson backed up his recommendations by many sound arguments. Field labour, he urged, and with reason, was a very suitable employment; healthful, easily learnt, and well adapted to the circumstances of unskilled labourers. Such excellent returns might be counted upon, that a margin of profit would be left after the cost of the prisons had been defrayed. The scheme was no doubt fascinating, and in many respects feasible; but Mr. Pearson overlooked some points in which a more practical mind would have foreseen difficulty, and perhaps forecasted failure. In his proposal he dwelt much upon the humanizing effects of healthful open-air toil, anticipating the best results from a system which made earnings, and indeed release, dependent upon the amount of work done. That industry might thus be stimulated and encouraged was probable enough, and later experience has fully proved the advantage of a judicious system of gratuities for labour; but Mr. Pearson hardly considered the converse sufficiently, and omitted the fact that he might have to deal with that persistent idleness which is not an unknown characteristic of the criminal class. The hope of reward might do much, but no system of penal discipline is complete unless it can also count upon the fear of punishment. Mr. Pearson seems to have taken for granted that all prisoners would behave well in his district prisons. On that account he made no provision to insure safe custody, thinking perhaps that prisoners so well disposed would cheerfully remain in gaol of their own accord. But an open farm of a thousand acres would have offered abundant chances of escape, which some at least would have attempted, probably with success. The creation of an expensive staff for supervision, or the still more costly process of walling in the whole farm, would have greatly added to the charges of these establishments.

I have lingered too long perhaps over Mr. Pearson’s proposal, but some reference was indispensable to a scheme which marked the growth of public interest in prison affairs, and which was the germ of the new system since admirably developed in the convict prisons of this country. Mr. Pearson and the committee of 1850 have the more claim on our consideration, because, in the inquiry which followed, attention was again attracted to Newgate. The condition of that prison in 1850 may be gathered from the pages of the report. Not much had been done to remedy the old defects; radical improvement was generally considered impossible. The great evil, however, had been sensibly diminished. There was no longer, or at worst but rarely, and for short periods, the same overcrowding. This was obviated by the frequent sessions of the Central Criminal Court, and the utilization of the two subsidiary prisons in Giltspur Street and Southwark. The prison population of Newgate was still subject to great fluctuations, but it seldom rose above two hundred and fifty or three hundred at the most crowded periods, or just before the sessional gaol delivery; and at its lowest it fell sometimes to fifty or sixty. These numbers would have still further decreased, and the gaol would have been almost empty, but for the misdemeanants who were still sent to Newgate at times on long terms of imprisonment, and for the transports, whom the Home Office were often, as of old, slow to remove. The old wards, day rooms and sleeping rooms combined, of which the reader has already heard so much, now seldom contained more than ten or a dozen each. Some sort of decorum was maintained among the occupants in the day-time. Drinking and gaming, the indiscriminate visitation of friends, and the almost unlimited admission of extra food, these more glaring defects had disappeared.

But reformation was only skin deep. Below the surface many of the old evils still rankled. There was as yet no control over the prisoners after locking-up time; this occurred in summer at eight, but in the winter months it took place at dusk, and was often as early as four or five. The prisoners were still left to themselves till next morning’s unlocking, and they spent some fourteen or fifteen hours in total darkness, and almost without check or control. Captain Williams, who was the inspector of prisons for the home district in succession to Messrs. Crawford and Russell, stated in evidence that he was visiting Newgate one night, when he heard a great disturbance in one of the day and sleeping rooms, and on entering it found the prisoners engaged in kicking bundles of wood from one end of the ward to the other. Some attempt at supervision was exercised by the night watchman stationed on the leads, who might hear what went on inside. If any disturbance reached his ears, he reported the case to the governor, who next morning visited the ward in fault, and asked for the culprit. The enforcement of discipline depended upon the want of honour among thieves. Unless the guilty prisoner was given up, the whole ward was punished, either by the exclusion of visitors or the deprivation of fire, sharp tests which generally broke down the fidelity of the inmates of the ward to one another. Later on a more efficacious but still imperfect method of supervision was introduced. Iron cages, which are still to be seen in Newgate, were constructed on the landings, ensconced in which warders spent the night, on duty, and alert to watch the sleepers below, and check by remonstrance or threat of punishment all who broke the peace of the prison.

These disciplinary improvements were, however, only slowly and gradually introduced. Other changes affecting the condition and proper treatment of prisoners were not made until the inspector had urged and recommended them. Thus the wards, which, as I have said, were left in complete darkness, were now to be lighted with gas; and after this most salutary addition, the personal superintendence of night officers, as already described, became possible. The rule became general as regards the prison dress; hitherto clothing had been issued only to such as were destitute or in rags, and all classes of prisoners, those for trial, and those sentenced for short terms or long, wore no distinguishing costume, although its use was admitted, not only for cleanliness, but as a badge of condition, and a security against escape. Renewed recommendations to provide employment resulted in the provision of a certain amount of oakum for picking, and one or two men were allowed to mend clothes and make shoes. The rules made by the Secretary of State were hung up in conspicuous parts of the prison; more officers were appointed, as the time of so many of those already on the staff was monopolized by attendance at the Central Criminal Court. Another custom which had led to disorder was abolished; prisoners who had been acquitted were not permitted to return to the prison to show their joy and receive the congratulations of their unfortunate fellows. The Corporation seems to have introduced these salutary changes without hesitation. It was less prompt apparently in dealing with structural alterations and improvements. Well-founded complaints had been made of the want of heating appliances in the gaol. The wards had open fires, but the separate cells were not warmed at all. A scheme for heating the whole prison with hot-water pipes, after the system now generally adopted elsewhere, was considered, and abandoned because of the expense.

As to the entire reconstruction of Newgate, nothing had been done as yet. This, with a scheme for limiting the gaol to untried prisoners, had been urgently recommended by Lord John Russell in 1830. His letter to the Corporation, under date 4th June, is an interesting document, and shows that even at that date the Government contemplated the erection of a model prison. Lord John Russell, commenting upon the offer of the Corporation to improve Newgate, provided it was henceforth used only for untried prisoners, suggested that Newgate should be entirely reconstructed, and the new building adopted as a model. The Corporation had agreed to spend £20,000 on alterations, but £60,000 would suffice to reconstruct. Lord John, with great fairness, admitted that the whole of this burthen could not be imposed upon the city, seeing that since the establishment of the Central Criminal Court, Newgate received prisoners for trial from several counties, and he was therefore prepared to submit to Parliament a proposal that half the cost of reconstruction should be borne by public funds. He forwarded plans prepared by the inspectors of prisons, not for blind adoption, but as a guide. This plan was on the principle of cellular separation, a system, according to Lord John Russell, desirable in all prisons, “but in a metropolitan prison absolutely essential.” The Corporation in reply demurred rather to accepting strict separation as a rule, feeling that it approached too nearly to solitary confinement. The court was, however, prepared to consider Lord John Russell’s proposal with regard to the cost of rebuilding; but as the plan was “confessedly experimental, for the benefit of the country generally, the amount for which the city should be responsible should be distinctly limited not to exceed a certain sum to be agreed upon.” A proviso was also made that the magistrates should continue to exercise full control over the new gaol, “free from any other interference than that of the inspectors on the part of Government.”

No doubt wiser counsels prevailed with Lord John Russell, and on a more mature consideration he realized that the limited area of the existing Newgate site, and the costliness of enlarging it, forbade all idea of entirely reconstructing the gaol so as to constitute it a model prison. It would be far better to begin at the beginning, to select a sufficiently spacious piece of ground, and erect a prison which from foundations to roofs should be in conformity with the newest ideas.

The preference given to the Pentonville system destroyed all hopes of a complete reformation of Newgate. But the condition of the great city gaol was evidently considered a reproach by the city authorities, and a year after the opening of the new “model” at Pentonville, a serious effort was made to reconstruct Newgate. In 1845 the Gaol Committee brought forward a definite proposal to purchase ground in the immediate vicinity for the erection of a new gaol. This gaol was nominally to replace the Giltspur Street Compter, the site of which was to be sold to Christ’s Hospital, but the intention was of course to embody and absorb old Newgate in the new construction. The proposal made was to purchase some fifty thousand square feet between Newgate, Warwick Lane, and the Sessions House, “the situation having been proved by long experience to be salubrious.” But when this suggestion was brought before the court of aldermen, various amendments were proposed. It was urged that the area selected for purchase must be excessively costly to acquire, and still quite inadequate for the city needs. The Home Secretary had laid it down that at least five acres would be indispensable, and such an area it was impossible to obtain within the limits of the city. Now for the first time the Tuffnell estate in Holloway was mentioned. The Corporation owned lands there covering from nineteen to twenty acres. Why not move the city prison bodily into this more rural spot, with its purer air and greater breathing space?

Eventually Holloway was decided upon as a site for the new city prison. The necessary preliminaries took some time, but the contracts for the new building were completed in 1849, when the works were commenced. The prison was to contain four hundred and four prisoners, and the estimated expenditure was £79,000. It was to accommodate only the convicted prisoners sentenced to terms short of penal servitude, and after its completion the uses of Newgate were narrowed almost entirely to those of a prison of detention. It was intended as far as possible that, except awaiting trial, no prisoner should find himself relegated to Newgate. This principle became more and more generally the rule, although it has never been punctiliously observed. Now and again misdemeanants have found their way into Newgate, and within the last few years one offender against the privileges of the House of Commons.

With the reduction of numbers to be accommodated, there was ample space in Newgate for its reconstruction on the most approved modern lines. In 1857 the erection of a wing or large block of cells was commenced within the original walls of the prison, and upon the north or male side. This block contained one hundred and thirty cells, embracing every modern improvement; it also contained eleven reception cells, six punishment cells, and a couple of cells for condemned criminals. This block was completed in 1859, after which the hitherto unavoidable and long-continued promiscuous association of prisoners came to an end. In 1861 a similar work was undertaken to provide separate cellular accommodation for the female inmates of Newgate, and by the following year forty-seven new cells had been built on the most approved plan. During this reconstruction the female prisoners were lodged in Holloway, and when it was completed, both sides of the prison were brought into harmony with modern ideas. The old buildings were entirely disused, and the whole of the inmates of Newgate were kept constantly in separate confinement.

With the last re-edification of Newgate, a work executed some seven centuries after the first stone of the old gaol was laid, the architectural records of the prison end. Nothing much was done at Newgate in the way of building, outside or in, after 1862. The Act for private executions led to the erection of the gallows shed in the exercising yard, and at the flank of the passage from the condemned cells. The first “glass house,” or room in which prisoners could talk in private with their attorneys, but yet be seen by the warder on the watch, had been constructed, and others were subsequently added. But no structural alterations were made from the date first quoted until the time of closing the prison in 1881. But in the interval very comprehensive and, I think it must be admitted, salutary changes were successively introduced into the management of prisons. Newgate naturally shared in any advantages due to these reforms. I propose, therefore, to refer to them in the concluding pages of this work, and thus bring the history of prison discipline down to our own times.

The last inquiry into the condition and management of our gaols and houses of correction was that made by the Lords’ Committee in 1863. The inquiry was most searching and complete, and the committee spoke plainly in its report. It animadverted strongly on “the many and wide differences as regards construction, labour, diet, and general discipline” which existed in the various prisons, “leading to an inequality, uncertainty, and inefficiency of punishment productive of the most prejudicial results.” The varieties in construction were still very marked. In many prisons the prisoners were still associated, and, from the want of a sufficient number of cells, the principle of separation was still greatly neglected. Yet this principle, as the committee pointed out, “must now be accepted as the foundation of prison discipline,” while its rigid maintenance was in its opinion vital to the efficiency of the gaols. Even where cells had been built they were frequently below the standard size, and were therefore not certified for occupation as was required by law. Great numbers were not lighted at night, and were without means by which their inmates could communicate, in case of urgent necessity, with their keepers. Still greater were the differences with regard to employment. The various authorities held widely different opinions as to what constituted hard labour. Here the tread-wheel was in use, there cellular cranks, or “hard-labour machines.” Both, however, varied greatly in mechanism and in the amount of energy they called forth, while the former was intended for the congregate labour of a number, and the latter, as its name implies, imposed continuous solitary toil. At other prisons “shot-drill,” the lifting and carrying of heavy round shot, was the favourite method of inflicting penal labour. With these differences were others as opposed concerning industrial occupation. The gaol authorities often gave the highest, possibly undue, importance to the value of remunerative employment, and sought to make profitable returns from prisoners’ labour the test of prison efficiency. In this view the committee could not coincide, and it was decidedly of opinion that in all short sentences the hard labour of the tread-wheel, crank, and so forth should be the invariable rule.

In dietaries, again, the same wide diversity of practice obtained. The efforts made by Sir James Graham years before to introduce uniformity in this particular had failed of effect. The Secretary of State’s suggested scale of diet had seldom been closely followed. In some places the dietary was too full, in others too meagre. Its constituents were not of the most suitable character. More animal food was given than was necessary. Vegetables, especially the potato, that most valuable anti-scorbutic, was too often omitted. In a word, the value of diet as a part of penal discipline was still insufficiently recognized. The prisons were still far from inflicting the three punishments, hard labour, hard fare, and a hard bed, which Sir Joshua Jebb told the committee he considered the proper elements of penal discipline. It is interesting to note here that the committee of 1863 fully endorsed Sir Joshua’s recommendations as regards a “hard bed,” and recommended that “during short sentences, or the earlier stages of a long confinement, the prisoners should be made to dispense with the use of a mattress, and should sleep on planks.” This suggestion was adopted in the Act of 1865, which followed the committee’s report, and of which more directly. Clause 92, Schedule I. of that act authorized the use of plank beds, which were adopted in many prisons. They are now the universal rule, introduced, as was erroneously supposed, by the prison commissioners appointed under the Prison Act of 1877. Their origin it will be seen dates back much further than that.

Beds might well be made hard and their use strictly limited. According to this committee of 1863, beds in the smaller and most carelessly conducted prisons formed a large element in the life of a prisoner. In one gaol fifteen hours were spent in bed out of the twenty-four. This was in keeping with other grave defects and omissions. The minor borough prisons were the worst blot on the still dark and imperfect system. They were very numerous, very imperfect in construction and management, and they were very little required. In them, according to the committee, the old objectionable practices were still in full force. There was unrestrained association of untried and convicted, juvenile with adult prisoners, vagrants, misdemeanants, felons. There were dormitories without light, control, or regulation at night, which warders, dreading assault, were afraid to enter after dark, even to check rioting and disturbance. Prisoners still slept two in a bed. In one prison the bedsteads had been removed lest the prisoners should break them up and convert them into weapons of offence. The prison buildings were in many places out of repair; other houses often overlooked them. A single officer was the only custodian and disciplinary authority in the gaol. Complete idleness was tolerated; there was neither penal labour nor light employment. The prisoners inter-communicated freely, and exercised the most injurious, corrupting influences upon one another. The total want of administration was very marked, but in one prison it was such that the prisoners’ food was supplied daily from the neighbouring inn, and the innkeeper’s bill constituted the only accounts kept. The committee might well suggest the abolition of these gaols, or their amalgamation with the larger county establishments in their immediate neighbourhood. Some idea of the comparative uselessness of these small borough prisons was conveyed by some figures quoted by the committee. In 1862 there were in all one hundred and ninety-three gaols in England and Wales; of these, sixty-three gave admittance during the entire year to less than twenty-five prisoners; twenty-two others received between eleven and twenty-five; fourteen received less than eleven and more than six; while twenty-seven received less than six prisoners, and were in some instances absolutely tenantless.

The result of the recommendation of the committee of 1862 was the Prison Act of 1865, the penultimate of such enactments, many of the provisions of which still remain in force. The main object of this act was to compass that uniformity in discipline and treatment generally which had long been admitted as indispensable, and had never as yet been properly obtained. The legislature was beginning to overcome its disinclination to interfere actively or authoritatively with the local jurisdictions, although still very leniently disposed. However, it now laid down in plain language and with precise details the requirements of a good gaol system. The separation of prisoners in cells duly certified by the inspectors was insisted upon, also their constant employment in labour appropriate to their condition. Hard labour of the first and second class was carefully defined. The former, which consisted principally of the tread-wheel, cranks, capstans, shot-drill, was to be the rule for all convicted prisoners throughout the early stages of their detention; while the latter, which included various forms of industrial employment, was the boon to which willing industry extending over a long period established a certain claim. The infliction of punishment more or less uniform was thus aimed at. On the other hand, new and careful regulations were framed to secure the moral and material well-being of the inmates of the gaols. The law made it imperative that every prison should have a prison chapel, and that daily and Sunday services should be held. The chaplain’s duties were enlarged, and the principle of toleration accepted to the extent of securing to all prisoners the ministrations of ministers of their own form of belief. Steps were taken to provide the illiterate with secular instruction. No less close was the care as regards preservation of health. Stringent rules were prescribed for the prison surgeons; every prison was ordered to keep up an infirmary, and the medical supervision was to be strict and continuous. Dietaries were drawn up for adoption on the recommendation of a committee of experts. Baths were provided, ablutions ordered, and all appliances to insure personal cleanliness.

The administration of good government was to be watched over by the local magistracy, certain of whom, styled visiting justices, were elected to inspect the prisons frequently, to examine the prisoners, hear complaints, and check abuses. Under them the governor or gaoler was held strictly responsible. The books and journals he was to keep were minutely specified, and his constant presence in or near the gaol was insisted upon. His disciplinary powers were defined by the act, and his duties, both in

Interior of Chapel (1880).
Interior of Chapel (1880).

controlling his subordinates and in protecting the prisoners from petty tyranny and oppression, every one of whom he was to see once every twenty-four hours. But discipline was to be maintained if necessary by punishment, while decency and good order were to be insured by the strict prohibition of gambling and drunkenness. The latter was rendered nearly impossible by the penalties imposed on persons bringing spirituous liquors into the gaol. The old custom, so fruitful of the worst evils, of keeping a tap inside the prison was made illegal. So was the employment of prisoners in any position of trust or authority; they were not to be turnkeys or assistant turnkeys, neither wardsman nor yardsman, overseer, monitor, or schoolmaster, nor to be engaged in the service of any officer of the prison.

The Act of 1865 also encouraged and empowered the local authorities to “alter, enlarge, or rebuild” their prisons. They might raise funds for this purpose, provided a certificate for the necessity for the new works was given, either by the recorder, chairman of quarter sessions, or even by a couple of justices. Every facility was promised. The sanction of the Secretary of State would not be withheld if plans and estimates were duly submitted, and they met with the approval of his professional adviser, the surveyor-general of prisons. The funds necessary would be advanced by the Public Works Loan Commissioners, and the interest might be charged against the county or borough rates. Nor were these the only inducements offered. Where local authorities were indisposed to set their prisons in order, or hesitated to embark upon any considerable expenditure to alter or rebuild, they were at liberty to hire suitable cell accommodation from any neighbours who might have it to spare; the only proviso, that no such contract was valid between one jurisdiction and another unless the Secretary of State was satisfied that the prison it was intended to use came up in all respects to modern requirements.

But the act was not limited to permissive legislation. Its provisions and enactments were backed up by certain penalties. The Secretary of State was empowered to deal rather summarily with “inadequate” prisons, in other words, with those in which there was no separation, no proper enforcement of hard labour, no chapel, infirmary, and so forth. He could in the first place withhold the government grant in aid of prison funds by refusing the certificate to the Treasury upon which the allowance was paid. This he might do on the representation of the inspector of prisons, who was bound to report any deficiencies and abuses he might find at his periodical visits. The Secretary of State might go further. Where the local authority had neglected to comply with the provisions of the 1865 Act for four consecutive years, he could close the “inadequate” prison, by declaring it unfit for the reception of prisoners. His order would at the same time specify some neighbouring and more satisfactory prison which the local authority would be compelled to utilize instead, and with the concurrence of the other authority, and on payment. A few provisos governed these rather extensive powers. It was necessary, for instance, to give due notice when the government grant was to be withdrawn, and with the warning a copy of the particular defects and allegations was to be sent to the local authority. The latter too was to be laid before the House of Commons. In the same way, six months’ notice was required in cases where the closing of a prison was contemplated; but if these conditions were observed, the Secretary of State could deal sharply enough with the defaulting jurisdictions.

Yet the law was seldom if ever enforced. It was practically inoperative as regards the penalties for neglect. It was no doubt as irksome and inconvenient to the Secretary of State to avail himself of his powers, as it was difficult to bring home the derelictions of duties and evasion of the acts. Too much was left to the inspectors. It was nearly impossible for them to exercise a very close supervision over the whole of the prisons of the country. There were only two of them, and they could not visit each prison more than once in each year, sometimes not oftener than once in eighteen months. The task imposed upon them, tending as it did to the imposition of a fine upon the local authorities, was not a pleasant one, and it is not strange if they did not very frequently hand up the offenders to the reproof and correction of the Secretary of State. As the almost inevitable consequence, while the more glaring defects in prison management disappeared, matters went on after the 1865 Act much the same as they had done before. Districts differed greatly in the attention they paid to prison affairs. In one part the most praiseworthy activity prevailed, in another there was half-heartedness, even apathy and an almost complete contempt for the provisions of the act.

As the years passed, great want of uniformity continued to prevail throughout the prisons of the United Kingdom. The whole question assumed sufficient importance to become a part of the Government programme when Lord Beaconsfield took office in 1874. The Home Secretary in that administration, Mr. (now Sir Richard) Cross, having applied himself vigorously to the task of reorganizing the whole system, became convinced that no complete reform could be accomplished so long as the prisons were left under the jurisdiction of the local authorities. The Prisons Bill of 1876 contemplated the transfer of the prisons to Government. This bill, reintroduced in 1877, became law that year, after which the whole of the prisons, including Newgate, passed under the more direct control of the State. Since then a strong central authority has laboured steadfastly to compass concentration, to close useless prisons, and to insure that uniformity of system which all thoughtful persons had long admitted to be of paramount importance in the administration of prisons. Three years after the advent of the prison commissioners, it was decided that Newgate was an excessively costly and redundant establishment. It was only filled at the periods when the sessions of the Central Criminal Court were in progress; at others an expensive staff was maintained with little or nothing to do. At a short distance stood another prison of detention, that of Clerkenwell, with spare accommodation sufficient to receive all prisoners who were then committed to Newgate. These arguments were unanswerable. Accordingly, it was ordered by Sir William Harcourt, the present Secretary of State, that Newgate should cease to be used as a regular prison, and it is now, except during sessions or when the gallows is in requisition, practically and for ever closed.