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I met Wilde in his youth, says the Evening news representative, after he made his first memorable visit to America. His attire then was eccentric, but a justification of his doctrines. No man was more perfectly, more beautifully dressed. There was not a tinge in the colors of his apparel but completely the harmony. His long hair became him; his face was an oval, youthful, fresh; and bright with intelligence. How gross he has become!

Again I met him, sat with him at dinner the library of the Shakespeare Memorial Theatre at Stratford-on-Avon. Mr Henry Irving and the veteran journalist, Mr George Augustus Sala were also there. The assembly was a brilliant one. The occasion was the unveiling of Lord Ronald Gower’s status of Shakespeare, the beautiful work of art which stands on the green at the front of the theatre, facing the winding Avon and the church half hidden in the foulage. Irving and Sala made brillant speeches on the poet and the theatre, but when Wilde rose, again superbly but more rationally attired, and delivered an address on sculpture, the assembly of artists, scholars and historians listened with suppressed breathing, and browed their heads in acknowledgment of the man’s superiority. Wilde was in his zenith then.

The Oscar Wilde who came into the witness box at the Old Bailey to support his charge against the Marquis of Queensberry was not the same man. Though still precise and still brillant in wit, his features had acquired a coarseness that had robbed the man of his intellectual impressiveness.

When Wilde leaned on the real of the dock on Saturday and heard the jury, in answer to the various charges, six times repeat the word Guilty, nothing more appealing than the hopelessness which crept into his sunken eyes have I ever looked upon. The … visibly multiplied at the man’s face, his huge body seemed to shrink into littleness, and as the jailer touched him on the shoulder, he reeled in bewilderment.

During the first month, while on the wheel, Wilde will sleep on the plank bed, a bard board raised a few inches above the floor and supplied with shoes — clean sheets are given to each prisoner — two rugs, and a coverlet, but no mattress. His diet will be —

Cocoa and bread for breakfast at 7 30.

Dinner at noon, one day bacon and beans, another soup, another cold Australian meat, and another brown flour suet puddings, with the last three repeated twice a week, potatoes in every dinner; and tea at 5 30.

After he had finished his turn on the wheel he will be put to some industrial employment, not play writing, although it might be the most profitable for the prison de apartment, but provably post bag-making, tailoring, or merely picking of oakum. He will exercise in the open air daily for na hour walking with the rest of his ward in Indian file, no talking allowed.

He will be allowed no communication with outside, except by special permission, until he has completed three months of his sentence, and then he may write and receive one letter, and be visited for twenty minutes by three friends, but in the rising cell, separated from them, by wire binds and in the presence of a warder. After the first letter and visit the same may be repeated at intervals of three months. But all these concessions are dependent first upon industry and next upon conduct. The plan bed cannot be escaped from until a certain number of marls, awarded only for work done, and in the same way letters and visits are accorded. Wilde will attend chapel every morning at 9 am, and twice on Sundays. He will be visited, if he wishes it, by the chaplain, and as often as he likes also daily by the Governor or Deputy Governor.

In the Nineteenth Century, Wilde once wrote — The things people say of am an do not alter a man. He is what he is. Public opinion is of not value whatever. After all, even in prison a man can be quite free. His soul can be free. His personality can be untroubled. He can be at peace.

London, May 27 — Oscar Wilde, after he was sentenced on Saturday, was taken to Holloway Jail, in the northern part of Lon­don. There all his money and valuables were taken away from him by the warder, he was stripped to the shirt, and an officer wrote down in the prison register a minute account of his appearance, the color of his eyes, hair and complexion, and any peculiarities, such as a broken finger, tattoo marks, moles, etc.

Then Wilde was put into a hot bath, and his shirt — the last vestige of his days of freedom — was removed. Emerging from the water, he found a full suit of prison clothes ready for him, from under-linen to loose shoes and a hideous Scotch cap. His clothes are of dirty drab canvas plentifully adorned with broad arrows.

Shortly afterwards Wilde ate his first real prison meal an allowance of thin porridge and a small brown loaf.

He was taken to day to Pentonville, hard by the Holborn viaduct, a prison for convicted criminals.

He was examined physically with great care, scute upon the medical officer’s report will depend what labor he is to be set to. If he is passed as sound and fit for first-class hard labor he will take his first month’s exercise on a treadwheel — six hours daily, making an ascent of 6.000 feet; twenty minutes on continuously, then five minutes ' rest.

The necessity for a close medical examination is obvious before a man is subjected to this labor. Wilde will be subjected to auscultation and percussion and thoroughly overhauled before a decision is made.

During the first month while on the wheel, if put there, Wilde will sleep on a plank bed a bare board raised a few inches above the floor and supplied with sheets. Clean sheets are given to each prisoner, two rugs and a coverlet, but no mattress.

This will be his diet :

Breakfast at 7-30 a m. — Cocoa and bread.

Dinner at noon — Bacon and beans one day ; soup another ; cold Australian meat another, and brown flour suet pudding another, the last three repeated twice a week ; potatoes with every dinner.

Tea at 5 30.

After he has finished his spell on the wheel he will be put to some industrial employment — not play-writing, although it might be most profitable for the prison department, but probably post-bag making, tailoring or merely picking oakum.

He will exercise in the open air daily for au hour, walking with the rest of his ward in Indian file, no talking permitted.

He will be allowed no communication with the outside, except by special permission, until he has completed three months of his sentence. Then he may write and receive one letter and be visited for twenty minutes by three friends, but in the visiting cell, separated from them by wire blinds and in the presence of a warden.

Letter and visit may he repeated at intervals of three mouths. But all these concessions depend, first upon his industry, and next upon his conduct. There is no escape from the plank bed until a certain number of marks are awarded for work done, and is the same way letter a and visits are accorded.