a curse, and carries the spirit of
persecution in its heart of hearts."

Colonel Milman smiled sadly. He began to see that the sceptical disease
in me was beyond the reach of physic.

CHAPTER. XIII. PARSON PLAFORD.

The Gospel of Holloway Gaol, with which Judge North essayed my
conversion, produced the opposite effect. Parson Plaford, the prison
chaplain, was admirably adapted by nature to preach it. I have already
referred to his gruff voice. He generally taxed it in his sermon, and I
frequently heard his thunderous accents in the depths of my cell, when
he was preaching to the other half of the establishment. His personal
appearance harmonised with his voice. His countenance was austere, and
his manner overbearing. The latter trait may have been intensified by
his low stature. It is a fact of general observation that there is no
pomposity like the pomposity of littleness. Parson Plaford may be five
feet four, but I would lay anything he is not five feet five. I will,
however, do him the justice of saying that he read the lessons with
clearness and good emphasis, and that he strove to prevent his criminal
congregation from enjoying the luxury of a stealthy nap. He occasionally
furnished them with some amusement by attempting to lead the singing.
The melody of his voice, which suggested the croak of an asthmatical
raven, threw them into transports of sinister appreciation; and
the remarkable manner in which he sometimes displayed the graces of
Christian courtesy to the schoolmaster afforded them an opportunity of
contrasting the chaplain with the Governor.

Parson Plaford's deity was an almighty gaoler. The reverend gentlemen
took a prison view of everything. He had a habit, as I learned, of
asking new comers what was their sentence, and informing them that it
ought to have been twice as long. In his opinion, God had providentially
sent them there to be converted from sin by the power of his ministry.
I cannot say, however, that the divine experiment was attended with much
success. The chaplain frequently told us from the pulpit that he had
some very promising cases in the prison, but we never heard that any
of them ripened to maturity. When he informed us of these hopeful
apprentices to conversion, I noticed that the prisoners near me eyed him
as I fancy the Spanish gypsies eyed George Borrow when they heard him
read the Bible. Their silence was respectful, but there was an eloquent
criticism in their sq