While the other half of the prison was engaged in "devotion," I did an hour's grinding at Italian, and read a chapter of Gibbon; after which I heard the "miserable sinners" return from the chapel to their cells.
My Christmas dinner consisted of the usual diet, and after eating it I went for another brief tramp in the yard.

The officers seemed to relax their usual rigor, and many of the prisoners exchanged greetings.

"How did yer like the figgy duff ?" "Did the beef stick in yer ribs ?" Such were the flowers of conversation.

From the talk I overheard, I gathered that under the old management, while Holloway Gaol was the City Prison, all the inmates had a "blow-out" on Christmas Day, in the shape of beef, vegetables, plum-pudding, and a pint of beer.

Some of the old hands, who remembered those happy days, bitterly bewailed the decay of prison hospitality.