"Dunno," said the other, "I b'lieve he's a Fenian." Another time I heard the answer, "Oh, he's one of Bradlaugh's pals; and Bradlaugh's coming up next week"-- a next week which happily never arrived.
Mr.Ramsey tells me that similar speculations went on outside his door.
Like mine, his card specified "misdr." (misdemeanor) as the offence, the officials perhaps not liking to write blasphemy.

Like me also, he was put down as a Fenian.

"Why there," said a prisoner, who had just enounced this opinion, "look at his card; see--murder!" The "misdr." was not written too plainly, and "murder" was his interpretation of the hieroglyph.
Let me here interpolate another good story in connexion with Mr.Ramsey.
He was confidently asked by an old hand what he was in for.

"Blasphemy," said Mr.Ramsey.

"Blasphemy! What the hell's that ?" said the fellow.
Here was a confirmed criminal who had never heard of this crime before; it was not in the catalogue known to his fraternity; and on learning that all which could be got from it was nine months' imprisonment if you were found out, and nothing if you were not, he concluded that he would never patronize that line of business.
From the description already given of my cell, the reader has seen that my domestic accommodations were exceedingly limited.