Indeed, the condition of his officers was hardly to be envied. They were mostly men of the camp, soldiers who had served their time in the army, little fitted either by previous training or the habits of their mind for the task required of them now. Mr. Nihil, to be fully served and seconded in his conscientious efforts to effect reformation, should have been provided with a staff of missionaries; though these were hardly to be got for the money, nor would they have been found of much assistance in carrying out the discipline of the prison. As it was, the warders had to choose between becoming hypocrites, or running the risk of daily charges of irreligious impropriety, and of losing their situations altogether. Placed thus from the first in a false position, there was some excuse for them in their shortcomings. It is not strange that many went with the stream, and sought to obtain credit by professing piety whether they felt it or not, using scripture phrases, and parading in the pentagons and ward passages with Bibles carried ostentatiously under their arms, though it could be proved, and was, that many of the same men when safe beyond the walls were notorious for debauchery and looseness of life. It was in these days that a curious epithet came to distinguish all who were known as the chaplain’s men. They were called in the thieves’ _argot_ “Pantilers,” and the title sticks to them still. The “pantile,” according to the slang dictionary, from which I must perforce quote, was the broad-brimmed hat worn by the puritans of old. From this strange origin is derived a word which, with the lower orders, is synonymous still with cant and a hypocritical profession of religion to serve base ends. Millbank was long known as the headquarters of the “Pantilers.” On the other hand, officers in whom the old mammon was too strong to be stifled altogether, occasionally forgot themselves, and when accused or suspected of unorthodoxy or unbelief they naturally went to the wall. Thus it was not likely that one who was reported to be a confirmed infidel would escape instant dismissal; though in one instance the information was given by a prisoner, and should at least have been received with caution. The substance of the complaint made by the prisoner was that the officer had asserted that the nature of man was sinful, but that the worst man that ever lived was no worse than God had made him, with other remarks of a carping and irreverent character. Mr. Nihil immediately sent for both officer and prisoner, and confronted them together, questioning the former as follows:— “Mr. Mann, are you a member of the Church of England?” “No, sir.” “To what church, then, do you belong?” “I was brought up a Baptist, sir; but I am not a member of any society at present.” “Are you a believer in the Scriptures?” “I would rather not enter into that subject.” “Did you not represent yourself a member of the Church of England when first employed?”