d through
the floor, and there was a space between the side of the box and
the roof of the van, which sloped away like an eave. Probably
the ventilation was ample, yet I felt stifled, and so powerful is
imagination that I breathed heavily and irregularly. But reason soon
came to my assistance and allayed my apprehensions, although a remnant
of fancy still speculated on what would happen if the vehicle upset.

Presently the door was banged, and "Black Maria" started with her
living freight. We had the conveyance, or rather its interior, all to
ourselves. Surely the boxes we were pent in never held such company
before. Three "blasphemers," who had never injured man, woman or child,
were travelling to gaol under a collective sentence of two years'
imprisonment, for no other crime than honestly criticising a dishonest
creed. We were going to spend weary days and months among the refuse of
society. We were doomed to associate with the criminality which
still curses civilisation, after eighteen centuries of the gospel
of redemption. Posterity would condemn our sentence as a crime, but
meanwhile we were fated to suffer.

Rattle, rattle, rattle! How the wretched machine _did_ rattle! Even
the roar of the streets we traversed was inaudible, quenched in the
frightful din. All I could do was to inspect the memorials of my
predecessors in that box. The sides were scrawled over with their names
(or nicknames) and sentences. Their brief observations had a jovial
tone. I suppose the miserable passengers in that black ferry-boat to
Hades are too full of care to indulge in such trifling, and only wanton
larrikins and old stagers employ their pencils in illustrating the
planks.

After a long drive we entered an archway and stopped. A heavy door was
closed behind us, and another opened in front. The van moved forward a
few yards and turned round. Then the door was opened, and looking out I
saw the front of Holloway Gaol.

Several minutes elapsed before we descended from the prison van. During
this interval I chatted freely with my fellow-prisoners, although we
could not see each other. But I have always found, as one of George
Meredith's characters says, that observation is perhaps the most abiding
pleasure in life, and I watched with great amusement the antics of a
sprucely-dressed young fellow who sat on the step behind, and held a
facetious conversation with the pleasant officer who "delivered" us at
Holloway. This natty blade was