During this period three justices had periodically visited the jail, perused the reports, examined, as in duty bound, the surgeon, the officers and prisoners, and were proud of the system and its practical working here.

With respect to Hawes the governor, their opinion of him was best shown in the reports they had to make to the Home Office from time to time.  In these they invariably spoke of him as an active, zealous and deserving officer.

Robinson had heard much of the changes in jail treatment, but they had not yet come home to him.  When, therefore, instead of being turned adrift among seventy other spirits as bad as himself, and greeted with their boisterous acclamations and the friendly pressure of seven or eight felonious hands, he was ushered into a cell white as driven snow, and his housewifely duties explained to him, under a heavy penalty if a speck of dirt should ever be discovered on his little wall, his little floor, his little table, or if his cocoa-bark mattress should not be neatly rolled up after use, and the strap tight, and the steel hook polished like glass, and his little brass gas-pipe glittering like gold, etc., Thomas looked blank and had a misgiving.

“I say, guv’nor,” said he to the under-turnkey, “how long am I to be here before I go into the yard?”

“Talking not allowed out of hours,” was the only reply.

Robinson whistled.  The turnkey, whose name was Evans, looked at him with a doubtful air, as much as to say, “Shall I let that pass unpunished or not?”

However, he went out without any further observation, leaving the door open; but the next moment he returned and put his head in:  “Prisoners shut their own doors,” said he.

“Well!” drawled Robinson, looking coolly and insolently into the man’s face, “I don’t see what I shall gain by that.”  And Mr. Robinson seated himself, and turning his back a little rudely, immersed himself ostentatiously in his own thoughts.

“You will gain as you won’t be put in the black hole for refractory conduct, No. 19,” replied Evans, quietly and sternly.

Robinson made a wry face and pushed the door peevishly; it shut with a spring, and no mortal power or ingenuity could now open it from the inside.

“Well I’m blest,” said the self-immured, “every man his own turnkey now; save the queen’s pocket, whatever you do.  Times are so hard.  Box at the opera costs no end.  What have we got here?  A Bible! my eye! invisible print!  Oh!  I see; ’tisn’t for us to read, ’tis for the visitors to admire—­like the new sheet over the dirty blankets!  What’s this hung up?

“GRACE AFTER MEAT.

“Oh! with all my heart, your reverence!  Here, turnkey, fetch up the venison and the sweet sauce—­you may leave the water-gruel till I ring for it.  If I am to say grace let me feel it first; drat your eyes all round, governor, turnkeys, chaplain and all the hypocritical crew!”