to her surroundings. Her unfortunate father--an unsuccessful musician--had
succumbed in the struggle for an honest life, and the cares of a large
family had driven him to desperation. As I gazed at the poor girl with her
tear-swollen eyes and noted her extreme thinness and the shabbiness of her
well-worn clothes, and as, from her, my eyes turned to the cheerful
burglar's wife, I meditated on the superiority of virtue over dishonesty
--especially in the reward accorded to it.

At last, having stated my name, the name of my prisoner, the relationship
or lack of relationship between us, and declared my non-connection with
the case, and having received a tin number in return for this information,
I was ushered through various passages and apartments into a kind of dark
cage, separated by a narrow passage from a still darker one, in the depths
of which I perceived my Anarchist, O'Flynn, as soon as my eyes had grown
accustomed to the darkness. I had several questions to ask him during the
few minutes at our disposal, and conversation was anything but easy; for
on all sides of me other prisoners and their relatives were talking,
weeping, arguing, disputing, and shouting one another down with all their
might and lungs.

Two things struck me in Holloway Prison on this my first visit to such a
place. Firstly, the outward cleanliness, and I might almost say
pleasantness, of the place; and secondly, the illogical nature of the law
which treats the unconvicted men, who in its eyes are consequently
innocent, like convicted criminals. Nothing could be more uncomfortable
and unattractive than the conditions under which the detained men are
allowed to see their relatives; no privacy of any sort is allowed them,
the time allotted is of the briefest, and only one visitor a day is
permitted to pass. The censorship over books allowed is very strict and
hopelessly stupid, and altogether everything is made as uncomfortable as