le to
see every motion of the occupants; the object of this mechanism being to
guard against the passage of any interdicted articles.

The chapel was small, lighted by a large window on the left side
from the door, and warmed by a mountainous stove in the centre. A few
backless forms were provided on the floor for unconvicted prisoners.
We were accommodated with the front bench, and requested to sit two
or three feet apart from each other, the few other prisoners occupying
seats behind us being separated in the same way. The convicted prisoners
sit in a railed-off part of the chapel, and I believe there is a gallery
for the women. On our right, facing the window, was a pulpit, below
which was the clerk's desk, flanked on the right by the Governor's box
and on the left by a seat for the officers.

After waiting some time, we heard footsteps at the door. In strode the
tall Governor and the Chaplain, the one entering his box, and the other
going to the clerk's desk, where he read the service, which was rushed
through at the rate of sixty miles an hour. Mr. Duffeld started the
hymns, but his voice is not melodious, and he has little sense of tune.
The singing, indeed, would have broken down if it had not been for the
Francatelli of the establishment, who had exchanged his kitchen costume
for the official uniform, and sang with the fervor and emphasis of a
Methodist leader or a captain in the Salvation Army.

Mr. Duffeld mounted the pulpit to read his sermon. His text was Matthew
vii., 21: "Not everyone that saith unto me Lord, Lord, shall enter into
the kingdom of heaven; but he that doeth the will of my father which is
in heaven." This text caused me a pleasant surprise. I had heard of Mr.
Duffeld as a member of, or a sympathiser with, the Guild of St. Matthew;
and I fancied that he meant to condemn our prosecution, not directly, so
as to offend his employers, but indirectly, so as to justify himself and
satisfy us. I was, however, greviously mistaken. Mr. Duffeld's sermon
was directed against the large order of "professing Christians," who
manage a pretty easy compromise between God and Mammon, between
Jesus Christ and the world and the flesh, if not the Devil. It had no
reference to us, and it was entirely inappropriate to the rest of the
congregation, who, I must say, from the casual glimpses I caught of
them, were glancing about aimless as monkeys, or staring listless like
melancholy monomaniacs.

When the benedict