red kindness, but I had my own books
to read by that time. Mr. Stubbs's sermons were much superior to Mr.
Plaford's. They were almost too good for the congregation. He dwelt with
fondness on the tender side of Christ's character, and seemed to look
forward to a heaven which would ultimately contain everybody.

On one occasion we had a phenomenal old gentleman in the pulpit. He was
white-haired but florid. His appearance was remarkably youthful, and
his voice sonorous. I heard that he was assistant chaplain at one of the
other London prisons. With the most exemplary fidelity he went through
the morning service, omitting nothing; unlike Parson Plaford, who
shortened it to leave time for his sermon. I wondered whether he would
get through it by dinner-time, or whether he would continue it in the
afternoon. But he just managed to secure ten minutes for his sermon,
which began with these extraordinary words, that were sung out at the
top of his voice: "When the philosopher observes zoophyte formations on
the tops of mountains, he," etc. How singularly appropriate it was to
the congregation. The sermon was not exactly "Greek" to them, but it was
all "zoophyte." I heard some of them wonder when that funny old boy was
coming again.

The prisoners sit in chapel on backless benches, tier above tier, from
the rails in front of the clerk's desk almost to the roof behind. Two
corners are boarded off within the rails, one for the F wing and the
other for the debtors' wing. Above them is a long gallery, with private
boxes for the governor, the doctor and the chief warder, and a pulpit
for the chaplain. Parson Plaford used to make a great noise in closing
the heavy door behind the pulpit, leading to the front of the prison;
and he rattled the keys as though he loved the sound. He placed them on
the desk beside the "sacred volume," and I used to think that the Bible
and the keys went well together. In offering his first private prayer,
as well as in his last after the benediction, he always covered his
face with the sleeve of his robe, lest, I suppose, the glory of his
countenance, while communicating with his maker, should afflict us as
the insufferable splendor of the face of Moses afflicted the Jews at
Mount Sinai. His audible prayers were made kneeling with clasped hands
and upturned face. His eyes were closed tightly, his features were
painfully contracted, and his voice was a falsetto squeak. I fancy the
Governor must have sighed