as ravenously hungry morning and night, so that it was a luxury to pick
up a chance piece of bread from a dinner-tin in the corridor or from a
friendly prisoner "off his feed."

Bathing, clothing, and doctoring over, we were marched back to our
cells, each loaded with a new mattress and a pair of clean sheets. A few
minutes later I was summoned to the schoolroom with Mr. Ramsey, where
we were furnished with pen and ink and a sheet of foolscap to write our
"petition" to the Home Secretary. The schoolmaster officiated on this
occasion. He was a tall, pleasant-looking man, something over forty,
with a tendency to baldness. I believe he instructs prisoners who cannot
read or write in those useful arts. But his general duty is to play
factotum to the chaplain. He takes the singing class, leads the music
in chapel, plays the harmonium (the chaplain always calls it the organ),
acts as parson's clerk, and reads the lessons when his superior's throat
is hoarse with raving. He has a clear and powerful voice, which often
serves him in good stead. The congregation has a knack of getting out
of time and tune when the melody is unfamiliar; this, in turn, distracts
the choir, who flounder hopelessly, until the schoolmaster drags them
back by putting full steam on the harmonium and singing at the top of
his voice. Every Sunday afternoon, at least, he was obliged to display
his vocal prowess in this manner. After every one of the commandments
read out by the parson the prisoners chanted the response, "Lord have
mercy upon us, and incline our hearts to keep this law." Nine times they
chanted thus, gathering momentum as they went along, so that they took
the tenth in brave style. But, alas! the tenth was different. "Lord have
mercy upon us, and write all these thy laws in our hearts, we beseech
thee," were the words, and the tune was correspondingly altered.
Fortunately, just at the point of change, there was a strong
_crescendo_, which gave the schoolmaster a fine opportunity of asserting
himself. Dragging them back was impossible, so he drowned them, and
concluded with the solemn _diminuendo_ amid the breathless admiration
of the audience, who went wrong and wondered at his going right every
Sunday with the most astonishing regularity.

Looking after the library was the part of the schoolmaster's duty which
brought him in frequent contact with me. I always found him very civil
and obliging; and from all I could ascertain he was not only