How singularly appropriate it was to the congregation.

The sermon was not exactly "Greek" to them, but it was all "zoophyte." I heard some of them wonder when that funny old boy was coming again.
The prisoners sit in chapel on backless benches, tier above tier, from the rails in front of the clerk's desk almost to the roof behind.

Two corners are boarded off within the rails, one for the F wing and the other for the debtors' wing.

Above them is a long gallery, with private boxes for the governor, the doctor and the chief warder, and a pulpit for the chaplain.

Parson Plaford used to make a great noise in closing the heavy door behind the pulpit, leading to the front of the prison; and he rattled the keys as though he loved the sound.