I now for the first time came into personal collision with the chaplain. For weeks and months circumstances, and possibly choice, had kept us apart, nor had we exchanged a word since the eventful day when he discovered that an “unconfirmed” sinner stood before him. It was during prayers (a movable feast indulged in three mornings a week at the chaplain’s convenience) that I was referring to a book on the table in hopes of finding the particular extract he was reading. Failing in that I replaced the book, and resumed my hypocritical solemnity, in blissful ignorance of any impropriety. The holy man, however, thought otherwise, and hissed out at me— “I consider your behaviour impertinent to me, and disrespectful to God.” At first I retained my equanimity, for he was incapable of raising my ire; and I assured him what my object had been, and reminded him I was a Presbyterian. At this his rage knew no bounds, and sneering in a manner unworthy of a clergyman (I won’t say a gentleman), he said— “A Presbyterian, are you? Ah, I thought you didn’t belong to the Church of England!” I soon got the unhappy man’s back up. I assured him I was indifferent to his opinion, and added I was proud to belong to a Church where such intolerant views were not expressed by its ministers. This undignified scene was heartily enjoyed by twenty prisoners and warders, all of whom assured me I had had considerably the best of it. I intended to have paraded him before the visiting Justices, but common sense prevailed, and I should have ignored his further existence had it not been for a petty spite he indulged in shortly after. As I have before stated, the library books are under his special care. During my long illness I had waded through this “special” catalogue till I had reached number 21, and in the course of events might naturally hope to receive number 22 next. In this, however, I had made a miscalculation, and his Reverence decided that a school edition (the eighth I had read) of the History of England was a more wholesome dietary for a bumptious Presbyterian. I was convinced the mistake was not unintentional, but, anxious to give him an opportunity of gracefully retracting a contemptible action, I sent the following day to point out his oversight. The reply was, as I expected, “If he does not choose to have it let him go without.” I reported the matter to the Governor, who at once offered to place the matter before the visiting Justices, as he had no jurisdiction in the matter; but I decided that the man and his book were neither worth it. I should now, under ordinary circumstances, have been left entirely bookless—a contingency in my case that did not occur. It also gave me the opportunity of reading “The General History of the Church,” a well-written and exhaustive work by the Abbé Daras, supplied for the use of Roman Catholics. The superiority of the literature—religious and