Then, calling up a young Irish officer in my wing, he asked "How is this?
Why hasn't Mr.Foote been invited to chapel ?" "Well, sir," answered the culprit, scratching his head and looking sheepish, "I knew Mr.Foote was a Freethinker, and I didn't want to insult his opinions." Good! I thought.

Why was not this worthy fellow on the jury, or better still, on the bench?
I told him I was very much obliged for his intended kindness, but at the same time I preferred going to chapel, as I wished to see all I could for my money.
After that I went to the house of prayer like any church-going belle (this is what Cowper must have meant, for how could a _bell_ go to church ?) every Sunday, and every other day during the week.

Had the chapel been of larger dimensions I should have gone daily, but it was too small to hold all the prisoners, who were therefore divided into two congregations, each approaching the, holy altar on alternate days.

What I saw and heard in the sacred edifice will be related in a separate chapter.
At the end of my second month I was entitled to a school-book and a slate and pencil.

These articles were promptly brought to me by the obliging school-master.