n their hands. At
the desk sat the new director, by his side stood the governor, and in
front of the desk the chief warder.

"Well! what do you want?"

I told him that I had lost my leg in prison, that I was feeling my
health giving way, that I was anxious to be in a position to move about
a little better, and would feel very grateful if he would allow me to
have an artificial leg, the same as the other prisoners had. The
governor endeavoured to deny that any artificial legs had been
furnished to prisoners; but being prepared for something of that kind,
I gave the particulars I have already mentioned, which were confirmed
by the chief warder. The result was, that the director promised to see
the doctor on the subject. I was glad to see a disposition on the part
of the new director to listen to the prisoner without any attempt to
bully him, and became sanguine of the success of my petition. Next
visit, however, it was curtly refused on the ground of expense. As it
so happened, I was obliged to go to the hospital once more after the
lapse of a few weeks, and swallowed as much quinine there as cost far
more than an artificial leg, made by a prisoner whose labour at
knitting was not worth a penny a day, would have done! The prisoner who
lost the deformed leg began to use his artificial substitute, and two
or three times it got out of repair. One of these repairs was said to
have cost 30_s._ in London. In the long run it was broken, and an
ordinary wooden-peg leg substituted, which was the only one suitable to
his position.

I now began to be exceedingly depressed in spirits, and this depression
operated prejudicially to my health. I began at this time to string
couplets together, as an exercise for my mind and my memory, and so
great was the relief which was thus afforded me that I ventured to
compose verses in earnest, and succeeded in this way in partially
forgetting my troubles. To keep them in my memory was the most
difficult task, as it was quite contrary to the prison rules to write
one's own compositions in a copy-book. If John Bunyan had been
unfortunate enough to get into one of our model prisons, the "Pilgrim's
Progress" would have been unwritten. From this time up to the close of
my imprisonment I exercised my mind in the manufacture of verses, my
stock ultimately amounting to many hundreds of lines, which my memory
faithfully retained. My chest having now become very painful and weak,
in consequence of so mu