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Oscar Wilde is, according to the latest advices from Pentonville, relieved of hard labour on the treadmill. He is now required to pick oakum in his cell. Perhaps the doctor found that in his melancholy frame of mind the mill was dangerous. It is now said that he is not insane, only suffering from "slight melancholia." That was the malady which induced a young medical practitioner in the East End to terminate his life the day before yesterday. Oscar has to rise at 6 a.m. and clean out his cell before seven, by which time his breakfast of cocoa and bread is ready. He is allowed an hour's "airing"—it used to be two hours out of the twenty-four. Oakum-picking is indulged in up to the dinner hour, when the ordinary fare—soup and potatoes on some days—is provided. After that more oakum-picking until tea is served, and at 7 p.m. he is locked up for the night. The governor of Pentonville writes to Oscar's brother that he is going on "very well," and that in case of "serious illness" a communication would be sent at once.

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