here, could contain twelve hundred prisoners; but
they were piled on each other, and the conduct of the jailors in no way
assuaged the inconvenience of the place.

If any man arrived from the country well clad, who, condemned for a
first offence, was not as yet initiated into the customs and usages of
prisons, in a twinkling he was stripped of his clothes, which were sold
in his presence to the highest bidder. If he had jewels or money, they
were alike confiscated to the profit of the society, and if he were too
long in taking out his ear-rings, they snatched them out without the
sufferer daring to complain. He was previously warned, that if he spoke
of it, they would hang him in the night to the bars of his cell, and
afterwards say that he had committed suicide. If a prisoner, out of
precaution, when going to sleep, placed his clothes under his head, they
waited until he was in his first sleep, and then they tied to his foot a
stone, which they balanced at the side of his bed; at the least motion
the stone fell, and aroused by the noise, the sleeper jumped up, and
before he could discover what had occurred, his packet hoisted by a
cord, went through the iron bars to the floor above. I have seen, in
the depth of winter, these poor devils, having been deprived of their
property in this way, remain in the court in their shirts until some one
threw them some rags to cover their nakedness. As long as they remained
at Bicetre, by burying themselves, as we may say, in their straw, they
could defy the rigour of the weather; but at the departure of the chain,
when they had no other covering than the frock and trousers made of
packing cloth, they often sunk exhausted and frozen before they reached
the first resting place.

[As we have said, the present is but a fourth portion of Vidocq's
exploits; and if the remaining three are of equal interest, the work
will be one of the most extraordinary of our times. We scarcely remember
a counterpart, although the Memoirs of James Hardy Vaux are of the same
stamp. The fate of the latter work was curious enough. The manuscript
was sent by the author from New South Wales, whither he had been
transported. It was printed in two small volumes, and published by an
eminent west-end bookseller, who, for some unexplained motive withdrew
the edition, which is, we believe, now in the printer's warehouse. The
Editor of the "Autobiography" has, however, reprinted Vaux's memoirs in
his series; their s