never consent to see them under circumstances of so much humiliation. Captain Mason had had previous proof that my professions might be trusted. When first imprisoned, the reader perhaps remembers I was kept (though on my way home after a journey) a fortnight while the magistrates played at bail. When at length they signified their intention of accepting it, Captain Mason took me, through the city, to Bransby Cooper's house, where the bail-deed was to be completed. On our way I asked him if it would be necessary for me to take an oath, before my own bond could be accepted, as I should object to take an oath? He turned round and replied--'Why, Holyoake, as you don't believe in any of the Gods, you could have no objection to swear by them all.' I explained to him that if the Magistrate would regard my oath as a mere ceremony, by which I rendered myself liable to penalties in case of violated truth or failure in my bond, I would take the oath readily, if all the Gods of the Pantheon were in it: but if it were regarded as a profession of my religious faith, I would not take it. It was better that I should go back to gaol, than to make a profession of belief which would mislead others. I told Mr. Cooper the same when we reached his house. He, however, said my signature would do. One day I concluded a dialogue with my chaplain upon the principle of reciprocation, i. e. of retorting his language upon himself, and, I think, not without utility, for he never afterwards fell into that insensible arrogance of speech so common among pastors. On the occasion referred to, he began--'Are you really an atheist, Mr. Holyoake?' 'Really I am.' 'You deny that there is a God?' 'No; I deny that there is sufficient reason to believe that there is one.' 'I am very glad to find that you have not the temerity to say that there is no God.' 'And I am very sorry to find that you have the temerity to say there is one. If it be absurd in me to deny what I cannot demonstrate, is it not improper for you to avert so dogmatically what you cannot prove?' 'Then where would you leave the question of atheism?' 'Just where it leaves us both. 'It is a question of probability.' 'Ah! the probabilities in favour of atheism are very few.' 'How know you that? Did you ever examine the question without prejudice, or read that written in its favour without fear? Those who dare not look at all never see far.' 'But if the atheist has so much on his side, why does he not make it known? We do not keep back our evidences.' 'Has the atheist an equal opportunity with you? Is it generous in you to taunt him with lack of evidence, when you are prepared to punish its production?' 'The reason is that your principles are so horrible; as Robert Hall has said, 'Atheism is a bloody and ferocious system.' 'Permit me, sir, to return that gentle speech--to tell you that your principles are horrible, and that Christianity is a bloody and ferocious system.'