ld not
muster resolution to eat the sickly meat.

Those who had suffered from it before, took it as a natural consequence,
looking to the time of their release, as if it was to bring a happy
change in their lives. But Manuel felt that it was an unprecedented
outrage upon his feelings, and was determined to remonstrate against
it. He knocked loudly at the door, and some of the prisoners hearing it,
reported to the jailer, who sent Daley to answer it. As soon as the door
was opened, he rushed past, and succeeded in gaining the iron door that
opened into the vestibule, where he could converse with the Jailer,
through the grating, before Daley could stop him.

The jailer seeing him at the grating, anticipated his complaint. "Well,
Pereira,--what's the matter up-stairs?" said he.

"For God's sake, jailer, what am I put in here for-to starve? We cannot
eat the meat you send us, and we have had little else than bread and
water for three days. Do give us something to eat, and charge it to
consul, or Captain, an' I'll pay it from my wages when I get out, if I
ever do," said he.

"My dear fellow!" said the jailer, "no one knows your case better than
I do; but I am poor, and the restrictions which I am under allow me
no privileges. You had all better take your meat in the morning-if you
won't take soup-and try to cook it, or get Jane to do it for you. I
will give you some coffee and bread from my own table, to-night, and you
better say as little about it as possible, for if Grimshaw hears it, he
may lock you up."

"Do, I shall be very thankful, for we are really suffering from hunger,
in our cell, and I pay you when I get money from Captain," said Manuel,
manifesting his thankfulness at the jailer's kindness.

"I will send it up in a few minutes, but you needn't trouble yourself
about pay-I wouldn't accept it!" said the jailer; and as good as his
word, he sent them up a nice bowl of coffee for each, and some bread,
butter, and cheese. They partook of the humble fare, with many thanks to
the donor. Having despatched it, they seated themselves upon the
floor, around the faint glimmer of a tin lamp, while Copeland read
the twentieth and twenty-first chapters of the Acts of the Apostles.
Copeland was a pious negro, and his behaviour during his imprisonment
enlisted the respect of every one in jail. Singular as the taste may
seem, he had his corner in the cell decorated with little framed
prints. Among them we noticed one of the