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During the past few days unauthorised reports have been put in circulation regarding the health and mental condition of Oscar Wilde since his imprisonment in Pentonville Gaol. One report went so far as to state that Wilde had been placed in a padded room on account of his having developed violent insanity. From inquiries made in official quarters by a Morning reporter, it appears that the facts of the case are as follows :—

On the Monday morning following his conviction Wilde was conveyed to Pentonville, and, after passing through various preliminary ordeals, was handed over to the prison doctor for examination. This medical inspection is rather a long process in the case of persons condemned to hard labour. The doctor was apparently satisfied with the condition of Wilde, and passed him as "fit" for first-class hard labour—which means six hours on the treadmill daily for the first month, and the performance of other arduous duties.

When the doctor had "passed" Wilde he was given his first dose of prison medicine. This consisted of a certain quantity of bromide of potassium, which is administered to all prisoners at stipulated intervals. In the case of a new prisoner, such as Wilde, this drug is given more frequently than to those who have served some time. For three days Wildo took his medicine without complaint, and performed his allotted task on the tread-mill. At the end of this period, however, the changed conditions of life began to toll upon him, and he was suddenly taken ill. His illness commenced on the fourth day after his admittance. It was an attack of diarrhoea. This was followed by mental prostration and melancholy. For a time little was thought of his condition, as it was put down to what is known as "a prison head "—a complaint most new prisoners suffer from owing to the preliminary dose of bromide of potassium. This drug is said to produce in some people extreme melancholia. As soon as Wilde’s case was diagnosed the doctor discontinued the use of the drug, but his condition did not improve, and he was thought to be in such a bad state that he was removed to the infirmary, where he was placed in a bed surrounded by swoons, and watched night and day. At the end of two days the diarrhoea stopped, and as a marked improvement was noticed in his state, he was taken back to his cell.

The melancholia, however, continued. The doctor again examined him and ordered him to be placed on the second-class work. He gets up at 6 in the morning and proceeds to clean and wash out his cell. At 7 breakfast, consisting of cocoa and bread, is served. After the meal the prisoner is given an hour's exercise, and then returns to his cell to pick oakum until 12 o'clock. Then dinner, consisting sometimes of bacon and beans, sometimes of soup, and one day a week of cold meat, is brought to him. At half-past 12 he resumes the work of oakum picking, and continues thus engaged until 6 o'clock, when tea is served. At 7 o'clock he goes to bed.

This is now the daily routine of Wildo's life. He is compelled to pick a certain quantity of oakum, per day, is not allowed to converse with any one, and, with the exception of his hour's exercise, is kept in solitary confinement in his cell. He is still suffering from a form of depression, but is said to be improving daily, although for a time his mental state gave the prison officials—who have treated him with the greatest kindness and consideration—some anxiety. With the exception of the melancholia, he has enjoyed fairly good health since his removal to Pentonville.

The Rev. Stewart Headlam explains, in the current number of his monthly paper, the Church Reformer, why he went bail for Oscar Wilde. He says:—"I became bail for Mr. Oscar Wilde on public grounds. I felt that the action of a large section of the press, of the theatrical managers at whose houses his plays were running, and of his publishers, was calculated to prejudice his case before his trial had even begun. I was a surety not for his character, but for his appearance in court to stand his trial. I had very little personal knowledge of him at the time. I think I had only met him twice, but my confidence in his honour and manliness has been fully justified by the fact (if rumour be correct, withstanding strong inducements to the contrary) that he stayed in England and faced his trial."

In conclusion, Mr. Headlam says: "Now that the trial is over, and Mr. Wilde has been convicted and sentenced, I still feel that I was absolutely right in the course I took, and I hope that, after he has gone through his sentence, Mr. Wilde may be able, with the help of his friends, to do good work in his fresh life."

The British Medical Journal says many rumours have been spread abroad in regard to the health and treatment of Oscar Wilde, now confined in Pentonville prison. They are, however, absolutely without foundation. Notwithstanding all that has been said it is a fact that Oscar Wilde is in good health, and is not in the Infirmary.

When once the prison door closes on a prison he is cut off from the world, and nothing that can be said can either aggravate or lighten his punishment. It is otherwise, however, in regard to his perfectly innocent relatives. For three months they are absolutely debarred from all communication with him. If they write their letters are returned, and he is not allowed to send a message or word of any sort.

When the doctor had "passed" Wilde (says the Morning) he was given his first dose of prison medicine. This consisted of a certain quantity of bromide of potassium, which is administered to all prisoners at stipulated intervals. For three days Wilde took his medicine without complaint, and performed his allotted task on the tread-mill. At the end of this period, however, the changed conditions of life began to tell upon him, and he was suddenly taken ill.

The doctor ordered him to be placed on second-class work. He gets up at six in the morning, and proceeds to clean and wash out his cell. At seven, breakfast, consisting of cocoa and bread, is served. After the meal the prisoner is given an hour’s exercise, and then returns to his cell to pick oakum until 12 o’clock. Then dinner, consisting sometimes of bacon and beans, sometimes of soup, and one day a week of cold meat, is brought to him. At half-past 12 he resumes the work of oakum-picking, and continues thus engaged until six o’clock, when tea is served. At seven o’clock he goes to bed.

This is now the daily routine of Wilde’s life. He is compelled to pick a certain quantity of oakum per day, is not allowed to converse with anyone, and, with the exception of his hour’s exercise, is kept in solitary confinement in his cell.

The officials say Wilde is going on very well. In the event of serious illness a communication would be sent at once to his friends.