"What!" he rejoined, "surely you're Catholic or Protestant or something." Then, with a flourish of the pen, and an air of finality, he put the question again more decisively, "What religion ?" "None," I said.

He stared, gave me up as a bad job, and wrote down "Religion none." That extremely succinct description figured for twelve months on the card outside my cell door, and I have heard prisoners speculating as to what sort of religion "none" was.

It was the name of a sect they had never heard of.
The prisoners' cards, affixed to their cell doors, and containing their name, age, crime, sentence, class and creed, were of two colors--white (the emblem of purity) for the Protestants, and red (the symbol of sin) for the Catholics.

These criminal members of the two great divisions of Christendom, like their better or more fortunate co-religionists out of doors, do not mix in their devotions.

They worship God at different times, although, alas! the same building has to serve for both.