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NEW YORK, May 28 - The World this morning prints the following cable:

LONDON, May 27 - Oscar Wilde, after he was sentenced, on Saturday, was taken to Holoway 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 in 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 underlinen to loose shoes and a hideous scotch cap. His clothes are of dirty drab canvas, plentifully adorned with broad arrows.

Shortly afterward Wilde ate his first real prison meal - an allowance of thin porridge and a small brown loaf. He was taken today to Pentonville, hard by the Holborn viaduct, a prison for convicted criminals.

He was examined physically with great care, since 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 tread wheel six hours daily, making an ascent of 6000 feet, 20 minutes continuously, and then five minutes' rest.

The necessity of a close medical examination is obvious before a man is subjected to this labor. Wilde will be 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 an 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 20 minutes by three friends, but in the visiting cell, separated from them by wire blinds, and in the presence of a warder.

Letter and visit may be repeated at intervals of three months. 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 in the same way letters and visits are accorded.

Wilde will attend chapel every morning at 9 o'clock and twice on Sunday.

He will be visited, if he wishes, by the chaplain as often as he likes, also daily by the governor or deputy governor.

Government inspectors will visit him once a month, and hear any representation or complaint, and a visiting committee of London magistrates will call frequently at the prison for the same laudable purpose.

On his release, Wilde, if he worked well and behaved well, will have earned the magnificent sum of $2.50, which he can have all at once, or it will be doled out to him by an agent of the Discharged Prisoners' aid society, if he (Wilde) elects to apply to that excellent institution once free.

While Oscar Wilde's case has absorbed public attention for weeks, the records of the London police courts show that persons accused of the offense of which he is convicted come frequently before the magistrates. On the very day he was convicted Kohn Goodchild, 28 years old, and said to have a good education, was sentenced to two years at hard labor for the identical crime.

The judge remarked that no country can remain great while such persons were allowed to live free in it. He believed, indeed, that they should not be allowed to live at all.

The marquis of Queensberry declares that if the treasury does not reimburse him for the $10,000 he expended in defense of the libel suit which led to the prosecution of Wilde he will ask some member to bring the question before parliament.

ROUTINE OF HIS LIFE IN JAIL.

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 colours of his apparel but completed the harmony. His long hair became him ; his face was an oval, youthful, fresh, and bright with intelligence. How gross it has become !

Again I met him, sat with him at dinner in 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 assemble was a brilliant one. The occasion was the unveiling of Lord Ronald Gower's statute 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 foliage. Irving and Sala made brilliant speeches on the poet and the theatre, but when Wilde rose, again superbly but more rationally attired, and delivered au address on sculpture, the assembly of artists, scholars, and historians listened with suppressed breathing, and bowed 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 in his attire and still brilliant in wit, his features had acquired a coarseness that had robbed the man of his intellectual impressiveness.

When Wilde leaned on the rail of the dock on Saturday and heard the jury, in answer to the various charges, six times repeat the word "Guilty!" nothing more appalling than the hopelessness which crept into his sunken eyes have I ever looked upon. The lines visibly multiplied in 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 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. 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 with every dinner; and 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 the most profitable for the prison department, but probably post bag-making, tailoring, or merely picking of oakum. He will exercise in the open air daily for an 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 visiting cell, separated from them by wire blinds 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 plank bed cannot be escaped from until a certain number of marks, awarded only for work done, and in the same way letters and visits are accorded. Wilde will attend chapel every morning at 9 a m, 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 a man do not alter a man. He it what he is. Public opinion is of no 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.