e of what he observed had been the source of many an
uneasy sensation to Thomas. The former visit was a matter of mere
curiosity; but Thomas was of the better order of servants. He was
considerably struck at the sight of me. Though my mind was now serene,
and my health sufficiently good, yet the floridness of my complexion was
gone, and there was a rudeness in my physiognomy, the consequence of
hardship and fortitude, extremely unlike the sleekness of my better
days. Thomas looked alternately in my face, at my hands, and my feet;
and then fetched a deep sigh. After a pause,

"Lord bless us!" said he, in a voice in which commiseration was
sufficiently perceptible, "is this you?"

"Why not, Thomas? You knew I was sent to prison, did not you?"

"Prison! and must people in prison be shackled and bound of that
fashion?--and where do you lay of nights?"

"Here."

"Here? Why there is no bed!"

"No, Thomas, I am not allowed a bed. I had straw formerly, but that is
taken away."

"And do they take off them there things of nights?"

"No; I am expected to sleep just as you see."

"Sleep! Why I thought this was a Christian country; but this usage is
too bad for a dog."

"You must not say so, Thomas; it is what the wisdom of government has
thought fit to provide."

"Zounds, how I have been deceived! They told me what a fine thing it was
to be an Englishman, and about liberty and property, and all that there;
and I find it is all a flam. Lord, what fools we be! Things are done
under our very noses, and we know nothing of the matter; and a parcel of
fellows with grave faces swear to us, that such things never happen but
in France, and other countries the like of that. Why, you ha'n't been
tried, ha' you?"

"No."

"And what signifies being tried, when they do worse than hang a man, and
all beforehand? Well, master Williams, you have been very wicked to be
sure, and I thought it would have done me good to see you hanged. But, I
do not know how it is, one's heart melts, and pity comes over one, if we
take time to cool. I know that ought not to be; but, damn it, when I
talked of your being hanged, I did not think of your suffering all this
into the bargain."

Soon after this conversation Thomas left me. The idea of the long
connection of our families rushed upon his memory, and he felt more for
my sufferings, at the moment, than I did for myself. In the afternoon I
was surprised to see him again. He said that he could no