SCENE IN A JAIL. 
293 
it unexpectedly comes upon them, with a factitious 
hardihood induced by those notions of absolute ne- 
cessity which renders them stubborn predestinarians. 
This, however, is by no means universal among them ; 
but, when the notion is entertained, it is inveterate, 
and almost invariably the belief of the profligate 
among their communities. 
After quitting the murderer I was introduced by the 
keeper of the prison to a young officer confined for 
debt. It still wanted a full hour of noon ; but he had 
evidently been indulging in “ potations deep,” as his 
speech was thick and his gait unsteady. He was 
quite a young man, as it struck me, about two-and- 
twenty. His face was flushed, his cheeks bloated, his 
eyes red and bloodshot, his dress disordered, his hair 
thick and uncombed, and his whole appearance bore visi- 
ble notations of the burning brand of early debauchery. 
He invited me into his apartment, in which were two 
fractured chairs, a broken teak table, and a small 
camp bed. The floor was strewed with various articles 
of dress. Upon the table lay two or three fractured 
glasses, some cigars, a common native hookah without 
a mouthpiece ; — in fact, every thing before me was a 
melancholy token of the worst habits, 
“ And seemed to speak variety of wretchedness.’' 
The young epicurean did not appear conscious 
that there was anything like misery in the world. 
His mirth was boisterous, his laugh incessant, 
his conversation voluble, and yet, amidst it all, 
there was a morbid indifference that seemed to have 
overlaid his youthful and elastic spirit like a cold win- 
2 c 3 
