the second, besides reading it discursively
afterwards. And still, I am a sincerely impenitent Freethinker! You may
knock a man down with the Bible, and make an impression on his skull;
but when he picks himself up again, you find you have made no impression
on his mind, except that his opinion of _you_ is altered. I remember
the chaplain calling to see me one day as I was just concluding my
inspection of what Heine calls the menagerie of the Apocalypse. He could
not help seeing the Bible, for when it lay open there was very little
table visible. "Ah," he said, "I see you have been reading the holy
Scripture." "Yes," I replied, "I've read it through this month, and I
believe I'm the only man in the place who has done it--including the
chaplain."

By and by the schoolmaster hunted me out a French Bible, the only one in
the prison. It was an old one, and contained some scratches by a
Gallic prisoner, who had been twice immured for smuggling (_pour
contrabandier_), and who pathetically called on God to help him. _Cette
vie est vie amere_, he had written. Yes, my poor French friend, it was
bitter indeed! As for the hymn book, it contained two or three good
pieces, like Newman's "Lead, Kindly Light," but for the rest it was the
scraggiest collection I ever met with--evangelical and wooden, with an
occasional dash of weak music and washy sentiment.

The monotony of my existence was not even broken by visits to chapel.
After the first day's attendance at "divine worship" for some reason I
was not let out at the hour of devotion. After a few days, however, one
of the principal officers said to me "Wouldn't you like to go to chapel,
Mr. Foote. There's nothing irksome in it, and you'll find it breaks the
monotony." "With pleasure," I replied, "but I have not till now received
an invitation." "What!" he exclaimed. Then, calling up a young Irish
officer in my wing, he asked "How is this? Why hasn't Mr. Foote been
invited to chapel?" "Well, sir," answered the culprit, scratching his
head and looking sheepish, "I knew Mr. Foote was a Freethinker, and I
didn't want to insult his opinions." Good! I thought. Why was not this
worthy fellow on the jury, or better still, on the bench? I told him I
was very much obliged for his intended kindness, but at the same time I
preferred going to chapel, as I wished to see all I could for my money.
After that I went to the house of prayer like any church-going belle
(this is what Cowper must have m