He says, "We would have sent him out, but he has nowhere to go, for he does not know his parish, so he must lie here till he dies, unless his sentence expires first." We speak to the young man a few kindly words, but he turns his face from us, and of his history we learn nothing.
On another bed we find an old man whose days also will be short; of his history we learn much, for he has spent a great deal of his life in prison, and now, aged, feeble and broken, there is nothing before him but death or continued imprisonment.

We pass by other beds on which prisoners not so hopeless in health are lying.

We see what is the matter with most of them: they are not strong enough for ordinary prison work, or indeed for any kind of vigorous labour.

So they remain in prison well tended in the hospital.

But some of them pass into freedom without the slightest ability or chance of getting a living otherwise than by begging or stealing.
What strikes us most about the inmates of the prison hospital is the certainty that many of the prisoners have not sufficient health and strength to enable them to be useful citizens.
So we pass through the hospital into the chapel, and find eight hundred prisoners before us.