ceeded from Brighton to Kew, being commanded to attend at the duke of Cumberland's. Upon one occasion, on arriving at Kew palace, Bird, who was remarkably obese and short-winded, was shown into a room and kept waiting some hours, but refreshment was brought in by a powdered lacquey in scarlet livery, and the visitor was left to himself. While heartily partaking of the sumptuous repast and sipping his sherry, all intent upon his entertainment, he felt a sharp slap on the shoulder, and at the same moment heard a youthful voice gleefully exclaiming behind him. The intruder was prince George of Cumberland, now the reigning king of Hanover. The prince, on entering the room accidentally, and recognising his stout preceptor, accosted him with, "Ah! Mr. Bird, is this you? I must take you at once to mamma; for I know that you are expected." Accordingly, as Bird himself would represent it, he was led by the hand of the young prince through a suite of superb into the presence of the duchess of Cumberland, introduced with the utmost naïveté, and soon found himself as much at home in the privacy of Kew palace, as if he had been at his own house. rooms, Such of our readers as have travelled much in England, will have noticed how the lawns of country mansions are frequently furnished with sundials. Many of these were erected under the superintendence of Mr. Bird. His early trade of a carpenter, and peculiar knowledge of science, rendered him the cleverest setter-up of these objects then to be found, and in this peculiar business, which he connected with that of lecturing and teaching, he obtained considerable patronage. His humble but useful career terminated in 1840, and is well calculated to teach a working man how much of self-elevation can be accomplished by the diligent use of natural abilities. PRISON SCENES TWENTY YEARS AGO. ALL who are conversant with the lives and beneficent labours of a Howard and a Fry, will retain a vivid impression of the appalling state of our prison economy at the time when these philanthropists exposed its revolting secrets to the shuddering world. A reformation of the penal discipline of the country was at once loudly demanded; and legislators, philanthropists, and jurists set themselves to the herculean task of cleansing those pandemoniums of disorder, cruelty, and crime, in which the outcasts of society were collected. It appears, however, that the amelioration thus effected was in numerous instances most superficial and partial; for, according to a sketch of the iniquitous system prevalent in the house of correction at Cold Bath Fields only about twenty years ago, (which has just appeared from the pen of captain Chesterton, the governor of that prison), it would seem that the abuses and corruptions could scarcely have been more flagrant at any former period. This gentleman, whose previous life had been marked by strange vicissitudes and adventures as an officer in the Spanish American wars of the early part of this century, received his appoint ment in the year 1829, having superseded a governor whom the magistrates were compelled to dismiss in consequence of his glaring mismanagement. Heretofore, the governorship of the Cold Bath Fields prison, in common with other similar penal establishments, had been in the hands of police officers, who were sometimes guilty of shameful venality, and were often in secret confederacy with the most notorious thieves of the time; so that, through the dearly-bought indulgences extended to them, the prison became a comparatively pleasant retreat, rather than a place of punishment, during the term of their frequent incarceration. Convinced of the impossibility of effecting any thorough measures of reform under such a régime, the justices resolved upon a radical change in the management, and accordingly selected a gentleman of the military profession, in the person of captain Chesterton, to discharge these arduous functions. From the dark picture which he gives of the gross immoralities and abuses of gaol management at the period of his accession to office, we will make a few selections-fully sufficient, however, to excite sentiments of astonishment and disgust in the minds of such of our readers as may favour them with a perusal. "I took possession of the prison," says our autobiographer," when the whole machinery betokened the most appalling abuse; and I found everything around me stamped with iniquity and corruption. Those best acquainted with the prison were utterly ignorant of the frightful extent of its demoralization. It is, indeed, melancholy to reflect, that well-paid functionaries should have entered into so unhallowed a combination to enrich themselves at the cost of all that was humane or even remotely decent. The procurement of dishonest gains was the only rule; and, with the exception of one or two officers, too recently appointed to have learned the villanous arcana of the place, all were engaged in a race of frightful enormity." "It is impossible for the mind to conceive a spectacle more gross and revolting than the internal economy of this polluted spot. From one end of the prison to the other, a vast illicit commerce prevailed, at a rate of profit so exorbitant as none but the most elastic consciences could have devised and sustained. The law forbade every species of indulgence, and yet there was not one that was not easily purchaseable. The first question asked of a prisoner was, had he money, or any thing convertible into money; or would any friend, if written to, advance him money;' and if the answer were affirmative, then the game of spoliation commenced. In some instances, as much as seven or eight shillings in the pound went to the turnkey, with a couple of shillings to the 'yardsman'-a prisoner who had purchased his appointment from the turnkey, at a cost of never less than five pounds, and frequently more. A fellow called the passage-man' would put in a claim for some thing also, and thus the prison novice would soon discover that he was in a place where fees were exorbitant and charges multiplied. If he should be singularly untutored in the habits of such society, he would not long retain a vestige of his property; and, if a sense of injustice led him to complain, he was called 'a nose,' and had to run the gauntlet of the whole yard, by passing through a double file of scoundrels, who, facing inwards, assailed him with short ropes or well-knotted handkerchiefs. If however, he were a swell-mobsman, or one who promptly assimilated himself to the ways of nefarious society, he would, by a sub-current of traffic (paying tribute to the turnkey), amass in a few months an unusual per-centage upon the money invested. The poor and friendless prisoner was a wretchedly oppressed man. He was kicked and buffeted, made to do any revolting work, dared not complain, and such was the amount of savage usage, combined with starvation (for even his prison fare would sometimes be sacrificed to fraud or theft), that timely intervention only saved a few despairing wretches from suicide." It may well excite the surprise of the reflecting reader, how these scandalous proceedings could altogether escape the notice and knowledge of the magistrates, in their periodical or casual visits to the prison. It appears, however, that ample provision was made for any such contingencies, by the establishment of a system of preconcerted signals; so that the unexpected visitor, on advancing from one part of the establishment to another, would usually find an outward order, well calculated to lull all suspicions of the irregularities that existed beneath the surface. The doors of cells opening into eight yards might be thrown wide open, to exhibit clean basements garnished with lime white, and little would the complacent justice imagine that almost every cell was hollowed out to constitute a hidden store, where tobacco and pipes, tea and coffee, butter and cheese reposed, safe from inquisitive observation; frequently beside bottles of wine and spirits, fish sauce, and various strange luxuries. As soon as evening arrived, when all apprehension of official intrusion was dismissed, the orgies of the depraved inmates commenced, during which, amid smoking, drinking, and singing, reci, tals of villanous exploits, and every species of pol luting conversation took place unchecked. Thus, any individuals of comparatively undefiled minds, coming within their demoralizing influence, would find it almost impossible to escape contamination. So thick was the veil of artifice and secrecy thrown over these prison irregularities, that even the new governor himself could only slowly and stealthily penetrate the mystery of wickedness working everywhere around him; while the subordinate functionaries, instead of aiding him in his investigations, did their utmost to delude and rer sist him in his reformatory schemes. Thus, for a long period, he had to contend single-handed against a host of confederates bent upon the maintenance of their illicit privileges. One method to which he was compelled to have recourse in order to obtain information, was to glide softly through the passages in the evening, and listen to the private conversations of the prisoners, who generally slept together by threes in each cell. On one of these eaves-dropping expeditions, the governor found a young man, of really honest principles, contending with two hardened criminals for the superior advantages of integrity. He was in prison for theft, but protested that had it not been for the impoverishment and distress occasioned by a severe illness, he would never have stolen. His companions scoffed, of course, at his scruples, and advocated general spoliation; when, in a tone of indignant remonstrance, the young man said, Surely you would not rob a poor countryman who might arrive in town with merely a few shillings in his pocket!" One of the wretches, turning lazily in his crib, and yawning as he did so, exclaimed with an oath, "I'd rob my own father if I could get a shilling by him!"-a sentiment that was loudly cheered by his fellow vagabond. The discussion thus overheard awakened in the governor's mind a deep interest on behalf of the brave young champion for probity. On inquiry, it was found that he was a manufacturer and hawker of brooms and brushes; and, ascertaining that 15s. on his discharge would enable him to buy sufficient materials again to pursue his trade, the visiting justices kindly presented him with that sum. A few months afterwards, captain Chesterton met him in Hatton Garden, bearing a pole well stocked with brooms and brushes, and, with grateful expressions to his friend, he declared himself to be a thriving and contented man. It was Though long checkmated and defeated in his excellent designs, by the powerful combination arrayed against him, an unexpected ally at length appeared, in the person of a prisoner bearing the assumed name of Thompson. This individual had been an officer in the Indian army, and had reduced himself to beggary by gaming and intoxication. In this abject plight, however, he still retained many traces of the gentleman, and was, moreover, devotedly attached to his aged mother. indeed a letter of his, addressed to his parent, breathing the most beautiful and affectionate sentiments, that, coming beneath the governor's eye, first excited his sympathy for the fallen man. Finding, by frequent intercourse with him, that he was worthy of confidence, the perplexed governor intrusted to him the anxious desire he felt to reform the prison management. His zealous co-operation was promptly secured, and a multitude of important facts were communicated, which aided him materially in the formation and working of his plans. At the suggestion of his new coadjutor, the governor paid occasional visits to the homes of prisoners, where, by tact and kindness, he obtained much information relative to the large pecuniary bribes which on various pretexts were extorted from their distressed relatives by the turnkeys. “One poor woman," says our author, "assured me that she had parted with her last farthing, and pawned her last remnant of clothing, to satisfy these insatiate wretches; and in the agony of her reflections she exclaimed wildly, 'Oh! what monsters those men are! what hearts of stone they possess!' Such a state of vicious society as this seems indeed to foreshadow in some measure the condition of lost spirits, and makes one realize the meaning of the aspiration, "Oh, gather not my soul with sinners, nor my life with bloody men." The dishonest turnkeys were dismissed; and this summary measure struck consternation and alarm into the heart of the clique, and at the same time exposed Thompson, whose concert with the governor had been long suspected, to their hatred and vengeance. Indeed, not many days were suffered to elapse before a fierce assault was made upon him. "One evening," says our narrator, "loud eries were heard from a room containing about thirty prisoners. I was in the garden and heard them, and rushed with two or three officers, whom I summoned to my aid, in order to ascertain the cause. No sooner was the door opened, than there stood Thompson, dripping with perspiration, and shaking with terror. Missiles of various kinds had been hurled at him, and he felt alarmed for his life. Preconcert was manifest in this outrage; for each assailant, as he suddenly started up and threw, instantly laid down, and no one of the offenders could be recognised. I never saw a creature so completely overcome by alarm as Thompson, who was withdrawn from the room more dead than alive." To provide for his safety, he was removed to another part of the building, where he remained during the residue of his prison residence. After his departure, the opposition and revenge of both officers and prisoners were concentrated against the governor himself, who was continually receiving anonymous letters, full of vindictive threats and menaces. Every epithet was applied to him that rage and malice could suggest; but, undeterred by the perils that gathered around his path, he steadily and resolutely pursued his schemes of amelioration, though, in deference to the wish of one of the turnkeys, who warned him that his life was in hourly jeopardy, he walked about with loaded pistols in his pocket, and slept with the same weapons beside him at night; thus for some months rendering his existence one of painful solicitude. He, however, with a spirit of true heroism, determined to reform the prison or perish in the attempt. It is gratifying to know that he was most effectively encouraged and supported in this noble undertaking by the visiting committee. On the resignation, about this time, of the chief warder, the hands of the governor were much strengthened by the appointment of sergeant Sims to the vacant post, who proved a valuable coadjutor. To give an idea of the exactions, tyrannical bearing, and insolence of some of the "yardsmen," we transfer to our columns a picture of one man belonging to this odious class. "Of all the domineering functionaries of that school, a fellow named B was the most conspicuous. He was a clever, plausible man, who could lie with imperturbable serenity, and demur and contend, whenever assailed, with a cool impudence and well-feigned assumption of innocence that few could imitate. He was one of those semi-educated bravos with whom no singleminded novice could compete. He disputed with me every step, inch by inch, swore by emphatic oaths that he would pose a jurist, and ultimately (as his time drew short), menaced me with prospective law in every form. Nothing could exceed the arbitrary sway which he exercised over the inmates of his yard, and with such provoking success, that I essayed in vain to shake his influence amongst the prisoners. He had been tried and sentenced in the court of King's Bench, and craftily assumed a dignity, based upon the superior tribunal that had condemned him (of which he boasted incessantly); and, in spite of my efforts, he all but triumphed over me by an assumption of superiority and importance which really imposed upon the ignorant by whom he was surrounded. At length he was discharged, and departed for the west of England, whence he played me off a trick which was truly characteristic of the man. I one day received a heavy box from Falmouth, marked game," for which I paid as "carriage" 4s. 6d. I was astonished at its weight, but opened it care At the period when captain Chesterton entered upon his official station, it was a custom for philan thropic individuals to supply decent clothing to the naked and distressed on their discharge from prison. This practice, originating in kindly and Christian feelings, was soon fearfully abused by the habitućs of the prison, who almost invariably pawned the garments thus bountifully furnished, and squandered the proceeds. Indeed it operated as a direct encouragement to the perpetration of petty offences, for the sake of the retiring gifts bestowed by the hands of misplaced charity. This indiscriminate practice was abolished by the governor, the effect of which was immediately seen in the diminution of petty and wanton trespasses. Among other instances of the gross fraud and malversation that had infected the entire establishment at Cold Bath Fields, was the waste, destruction, and misappropriation of the prison clothing and bedding. There had been, in fact, an utter want of discipline and responsible oversight in this matter, so that the annual sacrifice of property was enormous. The economical measures gradually introduced, under captain Chesterton's manage mert, displayed an almost incredible saving, as a comparative table of two periods of seven years satisfactorily testify. Before a year had elapsed, much had been done towards purging the prison of its delinquent characters and organized corruptions. The governor now found leisure to turn his thoughtful attention to other progressive improvements. Foremost among these, was the extinction of the mischievous habit of unrestricted intercourse between the pri soners. In imitation of the American model, which had already been copied at Wakefield with great success, the "associated silent system" was introduced. This great change in prison discipline came into operation on the 29th of December, 1834, on which day 914 prisoners were suddenly apprised that all intercommunication by word, gesture, or sign, was prohibited; and without any approach to overt opposition, the silent system became the rule of the prison, as it since has of several others. The results of this mode, after a trial of eighteen years, are declared by captain Chesterton to be eminently satisfactory. We could have wished in this article to have made some reference to another work on prisons, entitled, " Chapters on Prisons and Prisoners," by the Rev. Mr. Kingsmill, chaplain to the Peniten tiary, Pentonville. This volume ought to be in the hands of all who take an interest in the prevention of crime in our country; but its merits are too great to dispose of thus summarily in a concluding paragraph. At a future day we hope to bring the work fully before our readers. HOW TO LIVE AT PEACE.-1. Mind your own busi ness. 2. Keep your tongue from evil. 3. Do not contend for trifles. 4. If others neglect their duty to you, be sure love to him. 6. Beg of God for universal charity. 7. Cul you perform yours to them. 5. Make your enemy see your tivate humility of mind. "I should have no objection, madame Biget," said the steward; "but it does not rest with me. My lord is now absent, but he will be here to-day or to-morrow; my accounts must be all squared and ready for his inspection. I am not going to lose my situation for your convenience, madame Biget, so you must manage the best way you can." Ah me!" exclaimed the poor woman, raising her eyes appealingly towards heaven; "I have no hope then left me from man." 66 Re-entering the cottage, she opened a cupboard and took out a piece of brown bread. Martha," she said, addressing a child of ten years old, "there is your breakfast, my child; I have neither milk nor butter to give you to-day." "Oh, mamma! that does not signify; but why do you look so sad ?" 'Don't ask me, child, but make haste to eat your bread. Your aunt at Besançon has sent you and your brothers and sisters a nice cake a-piece; I wish you to take them theirs to school." "Oh, thank you, mamma; and if you will allow me, I will go at once, and keep my cake and my bread to eat with them when we are all together." Her mother gave her leave; and Martha, with her little basket on her arm, was soon tripping gaily along the road. It was a fine morning in October, 1757, and as little Martha went on her way, she saw a vast cloud of dust advancing. Presently a large party of dragoons appeared, followed by a number of men on foot, dressed in uniform, but unarmed. The child stopped on the road close to the hedge, and, as the party passed by her, she heard a low sigh, and saw that one of the prisoners of war, for such they were, had fallen on the ground. He looked as pale as death and his eyes were closed. Martha bent over him, and said, "What is the matter, poor man ?" The fainting soldier did not answer, but one of his comrades, who knew a little French, replied, "He's dying of hunger, like the rest of us, little girl." 66 Dying of hunger!" repeated she. And her first impulse was to open her basket and give its contents to the prisoner; but a sudden thought checked her. "These cakes don't belong to me," she said to herself. However, she took her own cake and her piece of bread and gave them to the poor man, who was now somewhat revived, and began to devour the food with the utmost eagerness. At the same moment several other prisoners held out their supplicating hands: they looked so pale and thin and wretched, that the child's eyes filled with tears. "Oh!" she thought, "if my brothers and sisters were here, I am certain they would not grudge their cakes to those poor people. I'm afraid mamma won't be pleased; but then hunger is such a dreadful thing, I must give them." So the little girl, who had not herself tasted anything that day, divided her little store, as far as it would go, amongst the prisoners. "I have no more," she said at last, in so sad a tone that the French captain who commanded the detachment, and who had been silently watching her, approached. "A pretty business this," he said, affecting a severe tone," to give your breakfast to your enemies!" Enemies, sir!" exclaimed Martha, "they are poor hungry people." Yes, but they are English; and the English are the enemies of France.' "Sir, I never thought whether they were enemies or not when I saw them suffering." The officer took her little hand. "Have you eaten your own breakfast, my child ?" No, sir." "Then you must be very hungry ?" "Oh, I don't much mind; I'm used to it." "Does your mother allow you to want food?" 66 Oh, no, sir, my mother always gives us children our meals before she takes a bit herself. When I am hungry, it is not her fault, but mine for giving my bread away.' At that moment, an inferior officer approached the captain to ask for orders, and Martha went away, retracing her steps towards home; for, not having anything to carry to her brothers and sisters, it would have been useless to visit them at school. "What will my mother say ?" she thought. I will tell her the exact truth, and then I hope she will not be angry.' When Martha entered the usually neat cottage, she was surprised to see the furniture in disorder, and her father, who during the last six months had never quitted his bed, seated, pale and faint, in an arm-chair. Her mother was counting some money in her lap, pausing now and then to brush away the tears that filled her eyes. and "Oh, mamma, what is the matter ?" "We are ruined," replied her mother, will have in future to beg our bread." The child threw her arms round the poor woman's neck, and exclaimed, “Oh, no, mamma, I'll work for you!" "Poor child!" said madame Biget, sorrowfully, looking at her daughter's slight, delicate frame. "But, mamma, how has all this happened ?" "We owe my lord de Varenne one hundred crowns for rent; all that we possess would not pay it, and his steward told us this morning that we must give up the farm." "Instead of talking to that child, Catherine," said her husband, peevishly, "you ought to cook the dinner." "The dinner is both cooked and eaten, dear," said his wife, gently; "did not I give you your soup just now?" "But your dinner and the children's ?" 66 Ah, they had some nice cakes which my sister sent them; and as for me, my heart is too full to | eat." Poor little Martha turned so pale, and trembled so visibly, that her father remarked it, and said, "I'll answer for it, she has, as usual, given her breakfast away to some poor person." "Mamma-papa-don't be angry," said the child, bursting into tears; "but I met some poor prisoners on the road; they seemed to be dying of hunger, and you know that God commands us to feed the hungry, so I could not help giving them all the cakes." "Naughty child!" cried her mother, angry at the thought of what her children might suffer; "how dared you give away all that you had ?" "God feeds the little birds, mother, and He will not let us want," said Martha, in a tone of such gentle persuasion, that madame Biget was quite softened, and said: "Well, well, I have enough for ye all to-day." And, giving the child a bowl of vegetable soup, thickened with barley, she laid by equal portions for the others. As Martha was eating hers, she remarked that her mother had kept none for herself, and accordingly said: 'Mamma, you don't eat." 66 "I can't, child." 66 what my father owes." And she thought sadly how happy the sum which that piece of useless finery had cost would have made her parents. 'How melancholy that little girl looks!" said the young lady, remarking Martha's presence for the first time. 'She wants very much to speak to your father, Mademoiselle Marie," said her nurse. "To papa? That won't be difficult. He is quite near, for he walked hither with us. Papa! papa! Cyprien, do you call, for your voice is stronger than mine-papa!" she continued, addressing an officer, who advanced, talking to an elderly man, dressed in brown, "here is a little girl who wants to speak to you." And taking Martha kindly by the hand, Marie presented her to her father. Poor Martha! she had arranged a little speech in her head, which was to have commenced with, "My lord, have pity on us!" But when she found herself standing before him, she blushed and trembled, and could not utter a single word. Meantime, lord de Varenne looked at her closely, Mamma," said Martha, after a pause, "will and exclaimed: ""Tis the little damsel of the you permit me to go out for two hours ?" "Whither do you want to go ?" "Please don't ask me until I return." "Let her go if she wishes it," said her father; "I dare say there are some poor sick persons she wants to visit. Kiss me, Martha; you are a kind child, and God will bless you." “Good morning, dame Simonne," said Martha, as she approached a cottage door where an old woman was sitting. "And good morning to you, Martha Biget; you look tired, little one. Come in and rest yourself. Have you far to go?" "To the castle, dame." "Ah, you want to see the bonfires that are to be lighted in honour of my lord's return." "Then he is arrived ?" said the child, clapping her hands; "I am so glad, for I want to speak to him." The old woman burst out laughing. "It won't be very easy for a poor child like you to get speech of him to-day." "What shall I do ?" said Martha, despondingly. "Is your business very pressing ?" Oh, indeed it is, dame. But who are these two children coming towards us? how beautifully they are dressed!" They are my foster-children, Martha-the son and daughter of lord de Varenne. The moment they return from town, they run to see their old nurse. Darlings!" she exclaimed, extending her arms to receive a boy of ten and a girl of about a year older. 66 Have you made a hot cake for us, nurse ?" asked the little boy, throwing his arms round her neck. cakes! What do you wish me to do for you, dear child?" he asked, smiling kindly. "Do you want some more cakes to give to the prisoners?" "Ah, no, my lord! It was something quite dif ferent Well, my child, speak, don't be afraid. I saw you this morning perform an action, which I would give the best farm in my possession to have seen done by Marie. I looked for you afterwards, but you were gone. Come, hold up your head and speak freely. If what you want be in my power to bestow, I promise now not to refuse it to her who this morning went without her breakfast to feed the hungry prisoners." At these kind words Martha fell on her knees, and clasping her hands, exclaimed: "Oh, my father and my mother! you will be saved! My lord," she continued, "my father owes you a hundred crowns-he cannot pay it, on account of the hail, and the rain, and "Stuff and nonsense!" interrupted the man in brown. "My lord, if you listen to all that your tenants choose to tell you, you will find that the hail, or the rain, or the sun, will always prevent them paying their rent." "Silence! M. Dubois," said his master, sternly. "If this little girl assures me that her father cannot pay, I fully believe her. The parents who have brought her up, must be worthy people. Stand up, my child; go home, and tell your father and mother not to be uneasy. I will go to see them to-morrow. Meantime, here is something to replenish your basket of cakes." And lord de Varenne put into Martha's trembling hands a purse nearly filled with silver. The child felt as if she were dreaming. "Is it mine-all mine ?" she said. And her friend hav ing assured her that it was, she scarcely waited to thank and bless him, but darted off homewards at full speed. Out of breath, she rushed into the cottage, threw the purse into her mother's lap, and exclaiming: "Take this; my lord will come himself to-morrow!"-fell nearly fainting on the ground. She soon, however, recovered; and in |