ElEY ARY 3ITY or DRNIA I SKETCH OF THE LIFE AND WORK LINDA GILBERT, WITH STATISTICAL REPORTS AND ENGRAVING OF HERSELF. NEW YORK: Printed at the Industrial School of the Hebrew Orphan Asylum. seventy-sixth street, near third ave. 1S76. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1876, By LINDA GILBERT In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. G5A9- DEDICATION. jyQ^ to hold forth the conduct of the people ; very easy for you to censure their vicious habits ; very easy for you to be a pattern of frugality, of rectitude and sobriety. You are surrounded by comforts, possessing multiplied sources of lawful happiness, with reputation and a clear sky in the future. If you do not contract dissipated habits, where is your merit } You have indeed few incen- tives to do so. But where would your prudence, your honesty, your self-denials be, if poverty stared you in thd^face, if your friends would 44 ridicule, scorn yoii, or perhaps shut the door in your face when you come to visit them ? If you had to sleep in a barn or in a police station or in a gutter, or had to walk the streets of New York city having not 20 cents, how would you bear it ? Lastly, imagine that seeing your capacities were but ordinary, your education next to nothing, and your competitors innumerable tell me where are the incentives to perseverance and forethought? How offensive is it to hear some great self-conceited personage thanking God that he is not as other men are, passing harsh sentence on his poor pressed and burdened brother, including all in a sweeping condemnation, because in their struggles for existence they do not maintain the same prim respectability as himself. There is nothing more irrational and absurd than to judge as to motives and actions from the outward appearance. To understand humanity we must inquire into the nature of its component individuals; and thus we find that every manifestation made by an aggregation of men originates in qualities belonging to the individual man. Hence the origin of social law as an attempt to secure a uniform understanding and practical embodiment of com- mon social interests. . All evil results from the non-adaptation of constitution to conditions. This is true of every living thing. A plant, if placed in poor soil, too hot or too cold climate, becomes sickly and dies out, and the reason therefor is, because the harmony between the plant's organ- ization and its circumstances has been destroyed. Every suffering incident to the human body from a headache up to a fatal illness, from a burn or sprain to accidental loss of life is similarly trace- able to the placement of the body under unfavorable conditions. Nor is evil in its application confined to the physical ; it compre- hends also the moral and intellectual possibilities. Nevertheless, although evil is made manifest, wherever we turn our attention, within or outside, it is not necessary or inevitable. Evil of all kinds is avoidable. But the presence of evil is necessary in order that we should be stimulated to discern the good. Evil is expressly appointed by the Maker. Man in the nature of things must over- come evil. As a child has to grow in physical strength, so man has to grow in the intellectual and moral. We must adopt the appointed 45 means ever cultivating good, we secure goodness to ourselves. Unless we exercised our faculties, they would, instead of increasing in power, become weaker until we lost them altogether. We are continually required to use our powers of observation. To make a false step in our walk may cost a broken bone. The object of evil is improvement. We are continually required to exert our- selves in order to maintain the observance of our Maker's rules,' and it is the only sure way to avoid evil. We are endowed with a free, intelligent will which we are expected to use. It is by exercise of a deliberate choice that we improve ourselves. By the constant employ- ment of the faculty of our private judgment we strengthen it, as we do air our other faculties, whether employed for good or evil, and are at length able to discern the true way of life. But free will, Avhile it is a great and noble gift, is nevertheless subjected to great responsibilities. Wliile we have freedom to choose between good and evil, we are expected, as far as our judgment goes, to choose the tiood. HELL'S HALF-ACRE. A Visit to Calamity Patch Amid the Miscegenators Squalor and Sin and Suffering TyE Wages of Sin Fallen from Purity The Story of a Life of Shame Lobster Cans and Old Hoop-Skirts Hot-Bed of Vice AND Plague A Field for the Philanthropic. " It is called ' Hell's Half Acre ;' otherwise, ' The Tunnel,' otherwise, ' Calamity Patch,' " said Officer Edward Londergan, 96, whom Ser- geant Buckley had detailed to escort two Repitblican reporters through a notorious court in the rear of Nos. 60 and 6 2 Griswold street, facing the depot of the Michigan Southern Railway. It was a beautiful day. -The wind was balm, the sky a molten sapphire, flecked with occasional pearl. Leaving behind the palaces of trade and the brilliant streets for it was afternoon, and the side- walks were gay with fluttering silks and flashing gauds, and eyes brighter still in one moment reporters and officer had struck into 46 a new Avorld, as unlike that which glittered and smiled outside as the mysterious depths of ocean are different from its unruffled surface. Dust, crazy side-walks; sallow, slipshod women shrieking to one another across the street ; hangdog men, guiltless of shirt-collar, soap or comb, lounging and blinking against a corner, watching the stone- cutters who chipped busily away a negress in a tawdry chintz dress, wherein yellow sunflowers strove with scarlet cabbage-roses, playing sign board at the door of a dive these were all of another world. Griswold street was quiet. Into a passage some six feet below the street led the officer. Under the houses were heaps of filthy straw, broken bottles, an old hoop skirt, a tumulus of empty lobster cans. "Are those dust-heaps.''" asked our reporter. " Bless you, no, those -are beds," said a pleasant-faced American lady, a resident of No. 60 Griswold street. " They are here by dozens at night. .We daren't go down-stairs to get a bucket of water." " Do they sleep here V asked the reporter. " No, I don't think they sleep, judging from the uproar. They call it Hell's Half Acre, but it is more like the whole tract." Emerging from this noisome cavern, a narrow court still more unsavory is entered. The ground is clammy and oozy with sewerage, because the drains are choked or the people too lazy to use them, so that all the offal is flung from the windows into the alley-way. Around it stand, or, *rather, lean, in various stages of dry-rot and dilapidation, half a dozen houses to the best of which a pig-stye is palatial. Rotten stairways, propped on mossy poles and drenched with filth, conduct to doors hanging by one rusty hinge. Windows of all sizes, more or less awry, filled with everything but glass, the paint blistered, peer in every direction. Each has a wondering face set in it. On one sill sits cooing a pigeon, the sun playing on the amber ripples of its throat. On one doorstep sits a fat negress, with ample bosom, girded round her waist, an orange turban and a dingy calico robe. She has a briar-root pipe in her mouth which she puffs contentedly. As she sits there, rolling her white eyes and with her oily skin shining in the sunlight, she looks like a picture out of Uncle Tom's Cabin. " Well, aunty," says the reporter, " how much rent do you pay.?" 47 " Six dollars, sah." " How many of you are there in that house?" " Dare's eleven, sah. Our landlord's name is Avery. Massa Hoff- man used to own dis place. Golly, I guess it pays. ' Bout seventy- five of us live here," and she laughs the traditional negro yah ! yah ! Beside her, in a shabby petticoat built out of a salt bag, and with a yellow bedgown showing her yellow bosom, her hair cut short and falling over her vacant eyes, her hands locked round her knees, rocking herself to and fro and croning some monotonous song, sits an old and withered woman. She has seven children. Born in Kentuck. Name's Brown. Guesses she's a sort of French-nigger- Indian. Husband.'' Yes. Where is he.'' How in h should she know.? Pays $2.50 rent. Chores round a bit when she's well. Been in the poor-house two months, and just come out to have a smell of fresh air. Here aunty, undulating with a chuckle, observes that dat old '00- man's got a black man, yah, yah, all the white trash roun' hyah got black men. We leave her quivering like a mould of sable jelly, and enter one of the houses. Here is a case for Miss Gilbert. Anonyma in literature call her Aspasia, Skittles, Higgles, the Lady of the Hut, what you will has about her a halo and a perfume of romance. She is young, handsome, witty, wilful; she puffs a cigarette gracefully, quaffs beaded Moselle, weeps when she thinks of her mother, and her lustrous eyes dilate like those of a beautiful tigress when the betrayer of her innocence rides past with the Bishop's daughter, on his way to the altar. Cant and delusion, which do more than even the Tribune " personals " to fill the stews of the great city with haggard incarnations of disease in paint and tawdry finery. Into this room let us enter. Its furniture is a bottomless chair, a bucket, a stove, red with rust, a broken trunk, and a bed. On this is a mattress and a brown blanket, both greasy from long use. In this bed lies a woman, with a peaked and sal- low face, and neglected hair round it, like so much oakum. One arm and a thin shoulder can be seen. She is naked. The room is about ten feet by twelve. Its plastering is brown 48 with filth, where it has not fallen away. Daylight breaks in here and there through the crazy walls, which are alive with vermin. Two slimy boards form a sink, on which are placed a coal-oil lamp, with a chimney three parts paper, and a broken pitcher containing about half a pint of milk and cockroaches. The floor is spread with ragged mattings from tea chests. The outer room is somewhat elaborately ornamented. There are upon the walls two sheets of photographs from the show-window of an abandoned artist, a protrait of Lincoln, the battle ,of Gravelotte, cut from an illustrated weekly, and two glazed and illuminated cards of popular bitters. A slouched hat and ragged coat are beside them. On the bed is a jaunty hat and white feather. Beside it, an old hoopskirt rampant on a pile of lobster-cans and sardine- boxes. This room is occupied by Jenny Edwards, a thin, sharp- featured girl, whose hair is combed back from her face till her eye- brows run into her scalp, Chinese fashion. She wears a faded blue and orange dressing-gown, and says she has come down here to nurse Em. Em. is the sick woman in the other room. "I saw that sick woman," said the officer, "not six months ago, and she had a gold watch and a silk dress, and a fan all trimmed with feathers. Such is life." The sick woman speaks in a husky whisper, inaudible at a distance of three feet. Her name is Anna Banks, she says. The girls call her Em. That isn't her right name. That is Augusta Dove D-o-v-e is the way to spell it. Born at Rockford ; father lives there. Just 20 years old last February February 16. Sick .? Yes for a month. Had chills and fever first, then got over that and had cold on the lungs. A child .^ Yes. Born last Tuesday morning at 4 o'clock ; died soon after. Know it was born alive, for it screamed. Ed. Paton and Casey took away the body and sold it. Casey lives on Dearborn street. The Doctor (Dr. B. C. Miller, County Physi- cian) left an order to take her to the hospital. Do you gentlemen think they'll come to take me.'' My God! I'm tired o' lyin' here. We ascertain that she has been living for the past year with a colored man named Will Banks. She has been on the street for three years, and went to Champagne City last summer to work. Got into 49 this trouble there with her employer's son, and so had to f:ome back to Chicago. Some of the women who play at Magdalen Homes, and Female Suffrage, and similar ddassements^ should stand by this bedside. No tinsel romance here. Dirt, and vice, and stark sin. A girl of twenty as old in the face as a woman of forty, lying naked in a bed reeking with malodors and crawling vermin, the consort of a negro who ran away with her few articles of tawdry finery; with neighbors who steal and sell the corpse of a child for whiskey, with parents living, and yet with not one attendant save a sister in sin and shame. Miss Gilbert has work here. Look out of the window. The sweet, pure air and the calm, blue sky above and around. Right across the way the massive walls of the station, where a thousand travelers for business or pleasui-e alight daily. How little they think, in the palace car, of the misery and degradation within a stone's cast ! Out into the fresh air again, and a loud cackling of cocks and hens, disturbed by the foray of a negro pickaninny in a stove-pipe hat, a coat whose tails sweep the ground, and a pair of trousers so ragged that the elbows of his shirt hang out through the knees there- of. Stumble over a pile of lobster-cans. Why is it that in the very citadel of poverty one always comes across lobster-tins ! We enter another house. Its occupant is a bold-faced woman, owning to 28 years. Her name is Moll Coffee, and the officer says it takes three to carry her into the lock-up kicks and bites, you know. Her house, or rather room, is neater than the others. Things have been tidied up; a looking-glass hangs between a beer-mug and a hair brush, and the mantel is covered with a copy of the Tribune scalloped with a rude attempt at regularity of ornamentation. A man wrapped in a dingy blanket lies on the* bed, and hides his face as we enter. A crutch standing by the bedside proclaims him a cripple. He isn't her man, Moll explains; her man is "Prince." Don't we know "Prince .?" He's cook at the Bridewell. She says " Prince " gave her an awful thrashing yesterday, which she didn't deserve, because she wasn't drunk. Says she was a good woman once "Very long ago," interjects the officer has a son in the bootblack brigade. Pays $4 for her room. Hates to live in this yard 4 50 because the minute any one says a word everybody runs for de cops. Out again into the air, thrice welcome after the fetid warmth we have been inhaling, past a scrofulous, bald-headed child with one eye, and out into the street. The roaring city, with its splendor and wealth, is before us, and the misery of Hell's Half Acre is a memory of the past. THE PICKPOCKET'S PETITION. " A Pickpocket " writes to the New York Tribune as follows : Please advise your readers always to leave their names and addresses in their pocket-books. It frequently happens in our business that we come in possession of porte-monnaies containing private papers and photographs which we would be glad to return, but we have no means of doing so. It is dangerous to carry them about so we are forced to destroy them. I remember an instance where I met with serious trouble because I could not make up my mind to destroy a picture of a baby which I had found in the pocket-book of a gentleman which came into my hands in the way of business on the Third avenue road. I had lost a baby myself, the year before, of the same age as this one, and I would have given all I had for such a picture. There was no name in the porte-monnaie, and no w^ay of finding out who was the owner, so, like a fool, I advertised it, and got shadowed for it by the police. Tell your readers to give us a fair show to be decent and always leave their addresses in their pocket-books. We want to live and let live. 51 BEHIND THE BARS, Inauguration of the Prisoners' Library An Interesting Occasion in the County Jail What a Noble Woman's Noble Pfforts Have Accomplished. About five hundred and fifty persons assembled at the Four Courts, last night, to witness the opening and dedication of the County Jail library. The founder, Miss Linda Gilbert, has by great zeal and industry gathered together about eighteen hundred volumes, which are neatly arranged in a large and handsome case, provided by the County court. The library case is placed on the North side of the rotunda, inside of the inclosure, and facing the cells. Near the book case is a melodeon with the inscription, " Presented by Dr. J. H. McLean to the Gilbert library. " The evening's exercises were opened with prayer by Rev. Dr. Burlingham. Rev. J. L. Holland, of St. George's church, then read the follow- ing letter from Miss Gilbert : St. Louis, March lo, 1873. Rev. J. L. Holland : Sir : In tendering you the guardianship of the Prisoners' library^ at the Four Courts, St. Louis, Mo., I bestow all in my power that can approximate to my belief in your God-given energy and capacity, united to a heart naturally sym'pathetic towards mankind. At an epoch when opinions are heard clashing on every side, strong, true and brave men are needed to guide God's humanity into the haven of eternal peace. In your fearless championship of the erring, may their blessings illumine the banner which you wear through "the battle of life," as you pass on, and resign your stewardship to the Infinite Father. Most respectfully, Linda Gilbert. Dr. Holland remarked that he felt embarrassed in -reading a com- munication thus addressed to him. He accepted the guardianship 'of the library, and hoped to have a helping hand from the people of St. Louis. He recognized in every man, no matter whether in or out of prison, a brother. Though charged with crime and incarcer- 52 ated in a prison cell, he had the instincts of man. For himself, he was actuated by this principle of love for humanity, and the erring were entitled to the heartfelt sympathy of every man. Even for the prisoner there was a future, that might be of a useful character, and it was not impossible for reforms to take place. Society was rapidly changing its views upon the subject of recognizing and aiding the erring to reform. While the law was none the less strict, the public mind was becoming more charitable in this regard. He told the prisoners that the library had been provided for their use by Miss Gilbert, after much labor, and trusted that they would derive much pleasure and profit from reading the books contained in it. Judge Cullen remarked that it was the curse of men to err, but that no man was guilty until proven so. Although the strong arm of the law must be laid heavily upon men, yet they were entitled to sympathy in the hours of misery, the result of strong temptation. He hoped that those who were so unfortunate as to be behind the bars would, enjoy many pleasant hours from perusing the books so kindly provided for them. Rev. Father O'Reilly followed in a feeling address of a few mo- ments. He said that those who committed sin were the slaves of sin ; that all men were virtually prisoners, and must have the aid and sympathy of all benevolent and Christian men. Let us give them all the help they need our sympathy, our love, good books to read, and then the poor, erring men would feel that they were not entirely forsaken. His remarks were very appropriate, and loudly applauded. Dr. Burlingham said that humanity and Christianity presented no bar to the sympathies of men for their erring brethren. While his feelings revolted against crime, the accused had claims upon his regards, his prayers, and his endeavors to ameliorate their loneliness in prison. When the library scheme was presented, he embraced it as one means of doing the sinning men good, and he was glad there was one woman who had courage to begin the noble work. Miss Gilbert had done this, and had accomplished it nobly. At the close of Dr. Burlingham's remarks, E. A. Garlick, an in- mate of the prison, who is awaiting trial for obtaining baggage from the North Missouri Railroad on false checks, volunteered to play a 53 piece or two on the organ. He was let out, and taking his seat at the instrument, played one or two pieces very well. An anonymous speaker was then announced. Taking his position in the dark, on the stairway .leading to the main building, he addressed himself to the prisoners. He besought them to think well of what was being done for them, and of the noble lady who had labored to provide them with a libarry. Ex-Mayor Cole was called out, and said he represented the mer- chants of the city, a class always ready to lend a hand to help any noble enterprise. This was an object that should be dear to the hearts of all. Time was when to attempt such an enterprise would have been the death-knell of the getter-up ; but now there was some- thing noble in it, and it would meet with the approbation of all good citizens. He then offered a resolution voting the thanks of the prisoners and all the citizens of St. Louis county to Miss Linda Gil- bert for her efforts in establishing and so successfully inaugurating the prisoners' library. The resolution was adopted by acclamation. The music for the evening was furnished by Mr. Babcock, organist, and by Mr. and Mrs. McLean, Mr. Vail, Miss Belle Johnson and Miss Julia Hart. The choir sang " Home Again," and the dox- ology, and after the benediction by Dr. Holland, the assembly with- drew. In front of the cell occupied by Anton Holm, the wife murderer, was placed a large bouquet, but whence it came was not known. The prisoners apparently enjoyed the occasion, and it was cer- tainly a grateful relief from the dreary monotony of prison life. REPORT OF MISS GILBERT'S WORK IN NEW YORK CITY. THE GILBERT LIBRARY AND PRISONERS* AID FUND. My work in New York began September i, 1873; since that time to this date, I have received from the public cash and books as follows : 54 Cash collected in amounts ranging from 50 cents to $5, . $1,425 00 Cash received from Wm. H. Aspinwall, Esq., . . 50 00 Total Cash received, $i,475 00 Number of Books donated, , . ' . . . . 692 volumes. The number of released prisoners whom I have aided is as fol- lows : Furnished employment to 113 " clothing to 04 " railroad tickets to 32 " " passes to 13 " night lodgings 87 Total, ........ 33g Other services rendered incurring an outlay of money : Soap bought and taken to cefls, 5 boxes. Fruit, flowers and medicines to at least 50. Letters written to more than 600 prisoners. Stationery provided for more than 100 prisoners. Number of Books purchased. . . . 1,418 volumes. LIBRARIES ESTABLISHED. At the City Tombs, a Library of . . . . 1,500 volumes. At the House of Detention, a Library of . . . 600 volumes. At Ludlow St. Jail, a Library of 1,080 volumes. Through my instrumentality, Mr. Stokes has placed a library in " Sing Sing " for female prisoners. I have on hand 300 volumes, forming a nucleus of a Library for the boys of the " National School Ship Mercury. '\ The total amount of my expenditures for the benefit of others in New York is - - - - - $3,644.30 This does not include one dollar of my personal expenses, which for various reasons have been large. The practicability of reforming criminals is proven often enough to cheer the earnest toiler in life's rugged path, and to convince the incredulous that total depravity rarely, if ever, exists. Donations of money, books, and clothing may be sent to Rev. George H. Hepworth, or to his Church, corner 45th Street and 55 Madison Avenue ; also to Rev. Dr. Deems, Church of the Strangers, Winthrop Place, or to Linda Gilbert. My books are always open for the inspection of all interested in this work, and to all who contribute. Respectfully, Linda Gilbert, No. 143 East 15th Street. REPORT OF MISS GILBERT'S WORK IN OTHER STATES. LIGHT FOR THE DUNGEONS LITERATURE FOR THE PRISONERS. Miss Linda Gilbert has for a long time been endeavoring to improve the condition of the prisons and houses of detention throughout the United States, with what success the following list of libraries already established will show : Cook County Jail, 111. St. Louis County Jail, Mo. Springfield County Jail, 111. Chicago House of Detention. N. Y. City Tombs. N. Y. House of Detention. N. Y. Ludlow St. Jail. These libraries consist of from 1,500 to 2,000 volumes each. She has also succeeded in procuring situations on farms for 450 released prisoners, some of whom have been in their homes three or four years. Donations of money, books, and clothing are solicited to forward this great work of prison reform. EXTRACTS FROM THE PRESS. Neiv York Sun. A glorious Easter in the City Prison. The dawn of a new era in felon life. St. Louis Republican. Prisoners languish in jails and peniten- tiaries through days, weeks, months, and years of solitude, when their minds are ripe to receive good impressions, and yet the golden op- 5(' portiinity is wasted, the best and surest road to reach the conscience is unused. With nothing to occupy his mind, the prisoner is left to brood uninterruptedly over his fancied wrongs, and little good ever comes of it, but rather a growth of bad resolutions and bad purposes. Miss Gilbert has determined to put good books into the hands of pris- oners, and thus attack evil natures at their most vulnerable point. JVe7C' York Herald^ speaking of the New York City Tombs Library, dedicated Sunday, April 5, 1874, says: We hope this is only a nucleus of a large collection, whereby the weary hours of prison life may be beguiled by instructive and profitable reading. It is to be hoped tliat the citizens of New York will see the neces- sity of this movement, and respond to this call with a hearty good will. Donations of Books may be sent to Rev. Doctor Deems, Church of the Strangers, No. 4 Winthrop Place. (Open from. 10 to 12 a.m., and 2 to 4 p.m.) Donations and subscriptions may also be sent to the office. Address, Miss Linda Gilbert, 143 E. 15th St., New York. RULES AND REGULATIONS that govern each library. Gilbert Library for the Benefit of the Inmates of New York City Tombs. I. A book may be retained one week; but a second volume cannot be taken until the first one has been returned. II. Persons taking out books must be careful not to mark or soil the same in any way ; if they violate this rule, they forfeit the privi- leges and benefits of the Library. III. In reading, as in everything, remember not Jiont rnuch^ hut hmv well you read. It is better to read little and think more than to read much and think little. This Library is called " Gilbert Library " by request of friends. March 7, 1874. 57 THE OUTCAST. The following poem is taken from " Recollections of a Policeman," by E. H. Savage, Chief of Boston police force. It was written by a young girl while in one of the cells of the station house. She thought herself dying that night, and really soon after died. The poem was found in her cell, written with pencil on a piece of paper. And is this New Year's Eve, mother ? O mothei-, can it be ? Oh ! what a sad, sad change, mother, This year hath wrought in me. Last year there was no lighter step, There was no brighter eye. There was no merrier heart than mine Now, mother, what am I ? A theme for every idle jest ; Sunk lower than the slave With blighted name, and broken heart, And very near my grave. For I feel my days are numbered. My life is waning fast And the thought is strong within me That this night will be my last. 'Tis just two years ago to-day Since Mary Ann was laid, Amid the tears of young and old, Beneath the churchyard shade. How sad we thought the fate was Of one so young and gay To die thus in the morn of life. And on her marriage day ; But now I envy her her doom. What joy for you and me. If I had died then, mother, When innocent and free. Ere I became what I am now : The saddest thing in life 58 Fallen, deserted, and betrayed A mother, not a wife. Of a group of lads and lassies Methinks I caught a glance My old companions, and they all Just being to the dance. And they will pass the night away In noisy mirth and glee ; While the shelter of a prison home Alone remains for me. I know how oft you warned me, mother, How oft you spoke the truth : That village girls were seldom wed By high and noble youth. I thought of the many tales I had read And of the songs I had sung ; How noble men loved lowly maids, If beautiful and young. I think I was bewitched, mother, By the light of those dark eyes. The murmured vows of tenderness, And all those flattering lies. I had scorn enough for others Who sought to win my love ; But he seemed to my unpractised eye As guileless as a dove. But judge him not too harshly, mother. Though I so sad beguiled. Although he strives to blight my name. And will not own his child. But time may come when he will feel His need to be forgiven, And you will forgive him for my sake. When I am gone to heaven. Oh ! how we mourned when father died. But then 'twas well 'twas so ; 59 He never could have borne with me As you have done, I know. He was so good, so just himself. He could not understand The temptations that beset the weak, The snares on every hand. But you have been so kind, mother, Although I have disgraced your name; You soothed me in my sorrow, Nor spoke a word of blame. And He will sure reward you Who said to one of yore, " Neither do I condemn you. daughter, Go, and sin no more." I should have been a solace, mother, In your declining years ; I should have wrought your comfort, mother- I have only brought you tears. But you will keep my baby, mother, And rear her as your own ; May she repay you better, mother, Than ever I have done. Poor babe, she has her father's smile, His bright and beaming eye ; Had she the right to bear his name, How peaceful could I die ! Some there may be who'll not regret That I am brought so low, And I was proud and haughty then, But I am humble now. I prized too much my beauty Which so fully proved my bane, I scorned the honest and the true, Who offered me their name. And now they will not speak to me ; They think I am so vile. 6o But pass me with a meaning look, And with a mocking smile. 'Tis very hard, perhaps 'tis right, But still I think I know, Had they but borne what I have borne, I could not treat them so. , And now good night, dear mother, I hope that ere the sun Sheds its first ray to-morrow morn My troubles will be done. And do not weep for me, mother, When I have left you here : Within a peaceful dwelling-place Will dawn my next New Year. A MODERN JAIL. The mode of treating debtors and witnesses and such like parties in Ludlow-street Jail, New York, is not only a standing scandal to all modern professions of humanity and justice, but so decided an out- rage in itself that we wonder there is not a physical revolt of society against the continuance of its abuses. Any man can be arrested on bare suspicion of a creditor, let the debt be as small as it may, and on his single assertion, in the form of testimony, be thrown into Ludlow-street Jail. The worst of it is, this is not the end of it. As soon as the other creditors know what has been done, they start up and rush around the doomed victim like a pack of ravening wolves, put all his business into the hands of the sheriff, destroy his prospects and clean him out pretty thoroughly before he regains his freedom. Such an instance has recently been brought to light in New Y&rk by the death of a man who, because one of his small- est creditors acquired a notion that he intended to leave the coun- try, procured the poor man's immediate arrest and incarceration, and let him free himself after a long time, only to find that his affairs were all gone to destruction. The sheriff's sale had stripped 6i him in the two weeks of his involuntary incarceration. With but a feeble constitution, his occupation gone, his spirits sanl^, his health gave way, and in a short time he was in his grave, leaving a family without provision. The ca::'j of another of the unfortunate inmates of this same Ludlow-street Jail is given in this wise : A man was seized and carried away from his wife and family, on a charge of having assumed to be the proprietor of a sewing-machine, which, according to the contract, was to remain at the disposal of the maker until the last instalment should have been paid. Another case was that of a man who had, with perfectly good intentions, indorsed a note for a friend, but because he was not able to pay, was torn from his bride and a position that paid him two thousand dollars a year. What happened to the maker of the unpaid note does not appear. Another stated that he had been pounced upon by his creditors without the slighest hint of their intention, and in Consequence his wife and three children were driven from a respect- able home to become the occupants of a wretched tenement, where they did what they could to eke out a living by making wax flowers for milliners. Said the poor victim " If they had only given me a chance, I would have paid them all ; but now I am utterly broken down, and can never hope to recover my former position in society." So that a bad law gives revengeful natures every chance to satiate their passion upon innocent persons, and under pretence of securing a paltry debt, to break up their business, beggar their families, destroy their reputation, blast their hopes, and end their lives in abject wretchedness. Ludlow-street Jail clearly needs a general delivery at the hands of humanity and justice. THE NIGHT BEFORE THE GALLOWS. This is a true description of a veritable case which came within the notice of Miss Gilbert. Oh, I shall go mad ! But no, I shall not I wish I could ! Then maybe I should beat my brains out against the walls of this damn- able prison, and be free ! Free ? What free ? My soul ? How 62 do I know I have a soul ? I know I have a something that thinks, and God ^nows if there is a God that I wish it would stop thinking. Oh, how the wind blows, and how the rain sobs ! To- day is the lytli day of November; I know it is, for I've got the record on the wall there. Seven months since, I've looked up at the blue sky, or felt the wind blow in my face. Hark ! I wonder what that noise is ! I'll climb to the grating over the door, and see. O my God ! It is a gallows they're building and for me ! To- morrow I'm to be hanged ! Why do I shudder and grow cold 1 Am I afraid to die .? I surely can't be afraid of death I, who have looked upon it in its most hideous forms. Yet the sweat starts out on my forehead when I think of the death of of shall I ever speak that name, in Time or Eternity, without feeling as if I were choking to death 'i To-morrow I shall be choked to death. I shall be hanged by the neck till I am dead. They are making the gallows now. Do I deserve to die } Did I really kill him Willie Burton .-* I didn't mean to I know that. I struck at Bill, "Slippery Bill" that fiend of hell, and in my madness I missed him, and hit Willie. Poor Willie ! I'd be glad to die if it would bring him back to his poor old mother. Strange, isn't it, that she is the only one who does not look on me with fear or horror she whom I have hurt the worst of anybody in the world .'' There's a step at the door ! 'Tis the turnkey with my prison fare. It used to be bread and water, but since I've been under sen- tence of death, I've had good fare. 'Tis as if they were fattening me for the occasion. They want me to look plump and comfort- able, to encourage others to come here and board, I s'pose. Good evening, turnkey ! I'm right glad to see you ; not that I'm hungry for food, but I'm hungry for some one to talk to. Can't I see Mr. Blake to-night } He always told me to send for him when I wanted him. Better send for the parson, did you say, turnkey .'' I want no parson here. I've lived without 'em I reckon I can die without 'em. They've never done me any good in life, and I won't call on 'em in death. But I want to see Mr. Blake. He told me to send 63 for him if ever I wanted him, and I want him to-night. If any man in this world can help me for for to-morrow's work, it's he. You'll send for him, did you say, turnkey 1 Thank you. You have always been as good to me as you could afford to be, I s'pose ; anyhow, I don't hold any grudge against you, and I s'pose it's all right someway. Good night, turnkey ! good night ! So he's gone, and I'm alone again ; and to keep up my strength and spirits till Mr. Blake comes, I'll just look at the supper he has brought me. Well, here's a supper fit for a man who is to live a good many years. That old chap has a heart, if he does live in a prison. Prison ! Oh ! I'd forgot for one minute I'm in a prison. I'm going to be hung .^ One look at the blue sky, then darkness, then what .-^ Whyj I'm crying ! What a fool to cry ! I wanted to cry when I found I'd killed Willie, but I couldn't. I was so full of tears, they couldn't run over, and they choked me ; and my heart ached. Hark ! That's the turnkey, and Mr. Blake ! How do you do, Mr. Blake .'* I'm so glad you've come ! I hated to call you out in the storm, but you see they won't put off the the they won't put // off, you know, and I've got a good deal .to say to you before before morning. True .'* Yes, every word shall be true. I'll not tell you one lie, Mr. Blake, though I've told enough of 'em to others. But they came pokin' 'round just to hear what I'd got to say, and some of 'em acted as if they was afraid o' me, and some of 'em as if I was a wild beast, and some as if I was deaf, and talked about me as if I couldn't hear 'em. Yes ! yes ! Youv'e always been good to me, Mr. Blake, and after supper I'll tell you all about it. Would ye mind eating supper with me, Mr. Blake .<* I kep' it in hopes maybe you would. Thank you ! Sit right here. You've always treated me like a human being, and as if I had a soul. Oh, Mr. Blake, have I got a soul .? And if I have, what is it, and what '11 become of it when when You'll tell me after I've told my story } Ah, well ! I'll tell it soon. 64 I've never had no chance, never. I never had no father as I know of. I had a mother, but she was well, she was a bad one, Mr. Blake. The first thing that I can remember was her a lyin' on the floor, and I a crawlin' over her, and whinin' for hunger and cold whinin' just like a puppy, and not' knowin' more'n a puppy what was the matter with her. Soon's I got old enough to know any- thing, I knew she was drunk. And when I cried for food, and she had none tp give me, she used to put some milk in whiskey and feed me that, till I was drunk too, and then she threw me on to a heap of rags, and went and left me. I was learnt to steal, soon's T could go in the streets; and that was when I was only six years old, and was so little that no one thought of its bein' me that took their hand-, kerchiefs, and knocked their bundles out of their hands, and then picked 'em up in the scramble and hid 'em in my rags. Mother used to get some work to do once in a while. She used to scrub offices and halls, and when she had work, and money, and enough to eat, she didn't get drunk, and she'd get some clothes for both of us, and she wouldn't let me go on the streets to steal, and say I should never steal any more, but that I should be brought up honest, and that she was once an honest girl, and lived where there was green grass and poseys ; and she would cry, and seem to love me. Then for a few days, or maybe weeks, she would let me go to school to an old lame soldier, who was paid by some benevolent ladies, and so taught us for nothin'. I used to learn so fast that the old man would sit and look at me as if he thought I was a wizard. Then there would come a time when mother had no work ; then she would get whiskey, and then get drunk, and take me out of school, and make me drunk, too which I was glad enough to do, for it made me forget my hunger. One time, when mother was in luck, she gave me money to start the newspaper business. I done well at it. Somehow I could sell when no other boy could. I think my father was a smart man, and a man of business. My mother would never tell me about my father. No matter how drunk she Was, she never told a word. I someway got to thinking he was alive, and I think he is yet. But mother is dead, and I have the curiousest idea that she comes and makes me think lots of queer 6s things. I didn't give up learning, and when I'd sold out my papers, I'd run to the old soldier's and stay till evening papers was out. I guess I was about ten years old when my mother died ; then I was homeless, shelterless, and penniless, and fell into a den of thieves, and I became a thief. And on my sacred word and honor, I never looked upon it as morally wrong. Such had been my birth and surroundings, that I regarded it as my legitimate trade, and to be sharp enough to evade the p'lice was an evidence of cunning and skill greatly to be desired. Will you believe it, Mr. Blake, the first ideas of the right and wrong of my course of life was given me by a man who was my fellow-prisoner ? And he had been tried, con- victed of murder, and sentenced to be hung ! He struck his father with a chair and killed him, while he was beating his mother with a stout oak cane. He meant to strike^ but not to kill him. I think, for my part, that a jury of jackasses w^ould have distinguished better than that jury of men did, between premeditated and acci- dental murder. He was nineteen, only a year younger than I am. He was a good boy. You needn't shake your head, Mr. Blake; you didn't know him. He was a good boy, and he learned me all the good I know. He never ought to have been hung. He ought to have lived, and took care of his mother and her little children. I don't understand law, did you say "i Well, maybe I don't ; but I do understand right and wrong, 'bout some things. Resigned.'' No, I ain't! I don't believe it is right to hang me; but they're agoin' to do it, and I hope that'll be the end on't. Yes, I'll tell you his name it was Albert Miller. After I'd served my time out, I went right to Albert's mother, and told her all about it, and how I loved Albert, and what a good fellow he was, and how I would help her all I could. I tried to be a good boy I did, Mr. Blake ; but I went, and went, and asked and begged for work, but when they found I had been in prison, no one would have me. Quiet, Mr. Blake .^ I can't be quiet. I'm mad when I think how hard I tried to do right, and Christian people wouldn't let me. I tell you they wouldn't let me, for they wouldn't help me, and where's the difference t Then I hated all the world, and I sat down 5 66 on the curbstone, and cried, and cursed, and swore vengeance on every one who had turned me away, and wouldn't give me the chance to do right. While I sat there, some one came and touched my shoulder. I thought 'twas ap'liceman, and shook the hand off. Then he ^ spoke. " What's the matter, boy*; are you hungry.'' Come, I'll get you something to eat. " I got up, and followed him. It was Willie. He took me to his house, into the kitchen, and an old black woman fed me. He took me to the stable to sleep. In the morning he told his grandfather about me, and begged so hard for a place for me, that his grandfather gave me a place as assistant groom. Willie's father was dead, and his mother lived in the country ; she had a large family, and was poor. His grandfather did not like his mother, but he had taken him to educate and bring up. His grand- father was good to him, but he was not very happy. He loved his mother, and his country home, if it was poor, and declared that as soon as he was big and strong enough to work, he would go back to his mother and work for her support, He saved all the money his grandfather gave him, to take back to his mother. He said he should walk home, and do the best he could about eatin' and sleepin'. Then he told me what do you think, Mr. Blake .'* he told me that, in the country, the poorest family would give him something to eat, and let him sleep in their house ! How good country people must be so good ! Why, Mr, Blake, I have begged all day in tliis cursed city for a loaf of bread, or money enough to buy it, and did not get it, and have gone to my nest of rags at night half starved. Don't curse, did you say .'' I can't help it. I have so longed to see the green grass, the trees, and the flowers of the country, and now I never shall never ! I've got to be hung, and every chance and hope cut off together ! Oh ! I'd be hung a thousand times if it would bring Willie back to life. Do you think I'd kill him a purpose ? Why, I loved him better than anything else in the whole world. I was saving all my wages, and I was goin' with him to his home in the country, and we was both agoin' to work for his mother. Growin' daylight ? So it is. Well, I must tell the rest quick as possible, so you can go home and rest. 67 You'll come back ? No, don't come back ! You've done me all the good you can, but I want you to try and comfort others as you have me. Yes, yes ! I'll hurry. How did it happen .? Well, in this way. Willie and I used to walk out every night, and we was careful to avoid my old haunts. But one night there was a procession and a band of music, and we followed it till we somehow got mixed up in a crowd and I saw Bill " Slippery Bill," I tried to get away so he would not see me, but he did, and made for me, and took hold of me and shook me about, and twitted me with being a gentleman thief, and told Willie he had better look out for me as I'd steal the clo'es off his back. I was so mad I struck at him with a heavy stone I had picked up. He dodged, and it hit Willie ! That's all ! I can't tell no more ! I can't bear to think of it ! Oh ! I hope when I'm dead it will stop this think think think ! It's daylight now. I'm glad it's the last the last I'll ever see. Yes, Mr. Blake, good-by ! You've been good to me ! Good-by ! He's gone ! But he shook hands with me, and kissed me ! What ! so soon, turnkey "i Well, I'm ready. I had no hand in bringing myself into this, and shall have none in taking myself out. God if there is a God will know all about this, and I don't b'lieve he is a going to be hard on a fellow for what he didn't mean to do. Do you, turnkey .? Blasphemy ! You call that blasphemy .? Well, I don't I call it gospel truth, and I'd take God's word at ninety days quicker'n I would the note of most pious folks. Well, here we are ! The blue sky and sunshine look pleasant but Good-by, turnkey ! These are the last t wor \ 68 THE STARVING MURDERER. The Iron-Willed Prisoner of the Iron Cage in Hartford The Sensations of a Starvin'g Man Wilson's Previous State Prison Experience Escape After Escape Begin- ning TO Eat Under a Dawning Hope. You have been advised of Wilson's abandonment of his design to kill himself by starvation, after fasting for njne days. Really it v/as not a complete fast for the whole period, as on the fifth day he took a swal- low of water. Here in Hartford his vitality in holding out through so many days of self-denial is looked upon as even wonderful, as Dr. Hawley, a leading physician, said a week ago that he could not pos- sibly live more than nine days. Medical authority is weak on that point, particularly where the man, determined upon taking his own life by the slow process of starvation, is strong and robust to begin with, as Wilson was. He weighed nearly one hundred and seventy pounds at the start, and though he was well bleached out, as all prisoners confined for a long time are, yet he was in good health. His tremendous power of will is shown in his frequent escapes from State prison, where he has overcome the greatest obstacles, even after giving his keepers a fair warning that he was determined to get away. One instance in point is his escape from Sing Sing. He was confined there for burglary, and became dissatisfied because of the hardships of the toil imposed upon him. He said to the keepers or wardens that he should behave himself, and he did so for some months, meantime asking that he might have lighter work. But this, though not directly refused, was staved off, and one day he said to the keeper : " I have behaved myself as I agreed to, and I get no favors for it ; now I give you warning that I shall get out of here at the first opportunity." The keeper turned up his nose and exclaimed, "Pshaw, you can't get away. We have got you fast." It was not long after this, before, one .day, one of the keepers drove up in a buggy beneath the window where Wilson was working, and left his horse standing there. In an instant Wilson dropped his tools and sprang out of the window into the buggy, and seizing the lines, drove off. He was spied, but put whip to the animal and 69 dashed through the prison gate into the road, the guard firing at him, and wounding him in the arm, which became disabled ; and naw the^ horse turned into a side road, and Wilson, supposing his chances for escape good, put on the lash ; but the road was a wind- ing one, and to his great surprise he found himself the road making a circle back at the prison. He was punished severely, but he bore it without complaint, till one day he said to the keeper, " I'll get even with you !" and it was not three months before he went out of the prison through the roof, and was never caught. From the New Jersey prison he escaped through a ventilating flue, after telling the keepers that he intended to get away. Wilson said to me : " They used me well enough there, but when they took me for a d d fool, I thought I'd give 'em the slip, and did so." He served a similar trick in the Ohio prison ; in this case, as in the other, giving the officers warning of his designs. And so it was in the Michigan prison, from which he escaped in mid-winter, and froze his feet, necessitating the amputation of both at the instep. And his pluck was such that, escaped convict as he was, hunted and hounded at every step, he reached New York before the surgical operation was performed. The loss of his feet has been a serious impediment to his opera- tions since, though escape from the New Jersey prison was effected afterward, and he also walked out of court in New York, taking advantage of his custodian's reading a paper, and left his coat be- hind him, and escaped, he at that time being in the Ludlow street jail. These examples are given to show the desperate character of the man, and powerful determination which controls him. Yet, with all this exhibition of will power, he displays none of it to a casual observer ; and it ought to be said in his behalf that he never, accord- ing to the testimony of prison officials, violates his word. If he says he will do a thing, he will do it ; if he says to the contrary, you may believe him. The starving business which he entered upon was a new thing in his mind, decided upon after he was brought to the jail in this city for trial, two weeks ago. When he came up to appear before the grand jury, the week before, he had a shoe-knife secreted in one of 70 his shoes, but that was discovered when he was taken back to the prison, and the discovery defeated his plans to be prepared for other work. When he got back he told Jailor Fenn that if he was sent back to the State prison to be fed on stinking meat, he would not live beyond ten days, as he should refuse to eat or drink, and could easily destroy himself in that way. On being taken back to the prison, after he was sentenced to be kept there till the time of his hanging, he began the execution of his threat. His food was placed in his cell regularly, but he refused to touch it. He was silent as to his motives, and nearly all the time lay on the bunk in his cell. On the fifth day of abstinence, as already stated, he tasted water, but after that, so far as is known, he tasted nothing until Saturday last, when he ate about one-quarter of the ration of mush and molasses placed before him. On Friday his counsel visited him and told him that they had filed a motion in error for a new trial, and he now says and that is about all that can be got out of him that he was led by this information to eat food. On Sunday he ate again, but sparingly; and several persons visited him, though they were unable to get anything out of him concerning his motives for starvation, further than as it related to the new trial. Above reference is made to the extraordinary deprivation of going nine days without eating ; yet it is not so wonderful in the light of several notable instances, and it may be that Wilson, aside from the notoriety which many suppose he aims at exclusively, has only been making an experiment. He is too cunning to disclose his real motive. I am not so sure that he has not read the diary of Lac Antonio Viterbi, which was kept while this great criminal, under sentence of death by the guillotine, was in the prison of Corsica in 182 1. There are experiences recorded in his journal, which appear in a very interesting little work written by Mr. Benson, of the English Chancery bar ; and it is thought .he gathered the most important lessons from Viterbi, who starved himself to death in approved fashion, and with a singular regard for all the details of a slow pro- cess of death. Every day he carefully noted his feelings, the condition of his vital organs, and kept a record of his observations. 71 He was without food eighteen days. His diary is a most interesting and well and clearly written record of personal experiences. At the end of the second week, he says, he did not feel any inconvenience ; that at other times he felt a burning thirst, and on the last day, just before his death, he made this apparently satisfactory record : " Last day, at eleven o'clock, I am about to end my days with the serene death of the just. Hunger no longer torments me ; thirst has entirely suspended. My stomach and bowels are entirely tran- quil, and my head is unclouded and my sight clear ; in short, an unusual calm reigns not only in my heart and in my conscience, but over my whole body. The few moments which I have to live glide pleasantly away as the water of a small brook flows through a beau- tiful and delicious plain." The iron cage, into which Wilson was put on being taken back to prison after his trial, was vacated in consequence of the storm of indignation raised throughout the community at putting a man into such a place, the cell being away from all others, and the boiler- iron affair, which it is, was designed as a place of punishment. His present cell is exactly the one referred to above, the most secure of any in the prison, and ^ double security has been taken in the strength of the door fastenings. It is located on the north corner side of the lower floor row of cells, just as the visitor passes from the reception room into the prison hall. There are two jams to the cell door, protruding about eighteen inches, and made of solid brick. The door consists of round bars of iron running up and down, with no aperture , a large plate in the centre incloses the lock. It swings against the right jam, and locks into the left jam. At the top of the door is a bar running through a whole row of cells.* This is as the cell was first constructed. Now to make it more secure, there has been put next to the door a thick plate of iron on either side, ten or twelve inches wide ; through the plate is cut a slot four or five inches wide and an inch long, with a hole drilled through the jam : then a flat bar of steel through the slot and all, and a padlock on the outside of each jam fastens this crossbar completely ; so that could a prisoner succeed in getting the door to swing, he could not open it, in consequence of the outs-ide barriers. No living man could open it without 72 assistance. The cell is small, though well lighted. The experience of Wilson, according to his own story, is that he suffered fearfully on the fourth or fifth day of his fasting, and it was during this almost madness that he was compelled to take a drink of water. There was such a craving that he could not endure it, and, whether responsible for the act of drinking, or whether it was an uncon- scious proceeding, he being controlled by an irresistible impulse as insane persons often are, he is unable to tell : all he knows is that he got the water, and, after taking it, his hunger left him. The first effect upon Wilson when he took^-his mush and molasses for the first time during his fast was pleasant ; but soon there came a terribly hot sensation in his stomach, followed almost instantly by slight pains through the system, and rapid heart-beating, his heart fairly jumping into his throat ; this startling sensation being very soon succeeded by a high fever, though the perspiration then began to appear, and. barring a burning feeling in the stomach, Wilson says he was in no pain ; and there has been no pain since to speak of, though he says he feels weak, as if rising from a bed of sickness, but feels that he is slowly gaining strength, and will, before many days, be himself again. He has lost not over fifteen pounds of flesh during his long deprivation, and is now eating more substantial food than mush, he choosing to take that at first because of its light cath- artic nature. , The food which he has is substantial, and he declares that he has no fault to find with that placed daily in his cell since he was taken back there. To-day he persists in his first statement that he decided not to " die because the motion for giving him a new trial has been roade, and is still as bitter as when in court, against the management of the prison before the tragedy was committed, and defends himself as stoutly as before in the matter of killing the Warden, saying that he did the act in self-defence, and would do it again under similar provocati'on. " If I get a new trial, I ought to be allowed to show what my treatment here has been. If you kill a man who seeks your life, you will be allowed to show the justification. So ought I to be, for I took the life of Captain Willard because under his treatment I could not live." 73 I spoke to him about writing his life, telling him that his experi- ence in crime had been so eventful that a recital of his deeds would make a thrilling record for -the public to read ; and his reply was, that if doomed to die he would write it, but for the benefit of his sister, who is old and poor, and lives in Brooklyn, New York. There is no doubt that he has been one of the most successful burglars which this country has produced. From what I know of the man, I am satisfied that he has been a murderer before. There are some of his escapes so marvellous, that without a tragedy they could not have been successfully performed ; but he has covered up his tracks by assumed names in prison, and the Wilson of to day is a worse villain of yesterday, and those having knowledge of previous mur- ders committed by his hand do not dream that he is the man. In his written life, which he will not surrender till death is sure, there Avill be some of the most startling revelations. He has two chances for a new trial one on the action of the Supreme Court, and the other on legislative action. He firmly believes that if he can get a new trial, he will not be convicted of murder, providing he can get his testimony in ; and if he should be given a new trial it would be on that point the refusal to admit testimony at the late trial and he would get it in. But he is mis- taken ; there will be no new trial ; and, if one, only a confirmation of the recent verdict. Meanwhile he holds his life in his own hands. He can kill himself by starvation, and has satisfied himself of that ; and, for this reason, he is willing to live till the last chance is gone. The World's account of the prisoner was wrong in almost every essential particular ; and the description of the iron cage was far from correct. It was said in that account that the cage was inclosed with solid granite, of which there is not a slab in the prison. It is surrounded by brick one foot thick, covered with mortar. New York Sun. 74 A CASE WITH A MORAL. New York, May 3d, 1876. Miss Linda Gilbert : Dear Madam : You have asked me to write a few lines for your book, and I, in turn, have asked myself how I could most worthily respond to this flattering invitation. If I understand your mission aright, it is bettering the condition of prisoners. Truly, a noble work. And if you agree with me, that to soften the hearts of men outside of the prison is the way to soften the hearts of those within, then, I think, you will not consider me trespassing if I relate to you the following simple incident. A friend of mine had in his employ a lad, of about 15 years of age, who one day took from his desk some silver coins which had been carelessly left there a few minutes before. He called the boy to him, and affectionately putting his hand on his head, said : " Tell me, Alfred, have I not always been kind to you; and have I not frequently given you proofs that I valued your diligence and trustworthiness.'*" " Yes, sir," replied the boy. " Well, then," continued my friend, " I will not misjudge you even in this dark hour, and put the blame where it belongs. Alfred, my boy, from my very heart / ask your pardon. It is / who acted wrong in putting this temptation before you, and, if you will forgive me, I promise you ever to remember to beware of putting a stum- bling block in my brother's way !" The boy, comprehending the manliness of this appeal, acknowl- edged his guilt amid a flood of tears, when a mutual i)romise was made never to refer to the matter again. Nine years had passed, when my friend, on a journey West, had occasion to do business with a prominent bank. To his astonish- ment and delight he recognized in the teller of this bank the apprentice of nine years ago, who had also recognized his former master, whom he greeted with the words : " Sir, to you I am indebted for this honorable position." Now, I know this friend of mine well, and can assure you that he 75 is just the man to do this sort of sentimental work, as some would call it, over again. Would not, I ask, a great many of our criminals be this day honest well-to-do citizens, if their first offence had been treated as an act due to impulsiveness rather than as the result of evil habits ; as an offence more to be corrected than to be punished ; if, instead of sending the offender to jail this hotbed of crime he had been dealt with in the family circle or the home of the philanthropist ? How many good people would pause before giving the order, "fetch the policeman!" could they know what a wreck they are making of that poor lad or lass that stands trembling before them, agitated with the dread of punishment. Will the punishment have a curative or preventive effect ? Only in isolated cases. This di-ead of punishment will soon be lost in the prison atmosphere, and make place for a callousness that " mocks the meat it feeds on." I wish you God speed in your good work, madam, and would you could enlist some of our- great good men and women to assist you in softening the hearts outside of the prison walls against young offenders, so that when a poor erring soul is tempted aside from the straight path, and love steps in to save it, it is not always met by those beautiful Northpole sentiments of indignant virtue : " Be just before you are generous !" "Society must be protected !" etc. Very truly yours, S. Arnhfim. CHARITY. When you meet with one suspected Of some secret deed of shame, And for this by all rejected, As a thing of evil fame : Guard thine every look and action, Speak no word of heartless blame For the slanderer's vile detraction Yet may soil thy goodly name. 76 When you meet with one pursuing Ways the lost have wandered in, Working out his own undoing With his recklessness and sin ; Think, if placed in his condition, Would a kind word be in vain ? Or a look of cold suspicion Win thee back to truth again ? There are spots that have no flowers- Not because the soil is bad. But the summer's genial showers Never make their bosoms glad ; Better have an act that's kindly Treated sometimes with disdain Than, by judging others blindly, Doom the innocent to pain. CRIMINALS, AND HOW TO TREAT THEM. LECTURE BY REV. R. A. HOLLAND. Quite a large congregation of people listened, lately, to the lecture of Rev. R. A. Holland, rector of St. George's Church, at the corner of Seventh and Locust streets, St. Louis. The subject of the lecture, " Criminals, and How to Treat Them," was discussed from the text found in the fortieth verse of the twenty- fifth chapter of Matthew : " Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these, my brethren, ye have done it unto me." Said the lecturer in substance : In glorifying Christ as the founder of our religion, which seeks the regeneration of the individual soul, we are too apt to forget his office as a reformer in society. Among the recent attacks on Christianity is the charge that, indulging in the dream of a future of immortality, it neglects to attend to the tempo- rary well-being of mankind. Many ardent philanthropists have tried to displace religion, in executing their various schemes for the benefit of society. But since the advent of Christ on earth there has been no single movement for the benefit of the race which His Spirit did 77 not vivify, or His deeds exemplify. True, there have been instances where Christ has been eliminated. To judge Christianity by its corruptions is as unfair as to judge of the pure stream at its rock fountain, by the river that receives the filthy sewerage of cities. It is a wonder that in spite of abuses tainting its waters, the stream of life has born a new chemistry that tends to purify. After three centuries of spiritual despotism that numbed its faculties, the human mind now feels the stirring of new thoughts. These conditions epito- mize themselves in the principles the fatherhood of God and the brotherhood of man. . The former is the reason of the latter, while the latter is the demonstration of the former. The fatherhood of God implies the impress of His image upon man, the grandeur in humanity. Birth and wealth are mere accidents. It is no merit of mine that I am an American and not an Arab. No merit of mine that I am the child of comfort. In the ragged newsboy or the smooched boot-black I see my own youth marked out, if I had been born of the same parentage, and had been suffered to live under the same neglect. One spirit runs through us all, bespeaking a divine ancestry, and all that now belittles man will be lost sight of in future excellencies. We are all' alike, and in infancy we see the same traits. We have the same emotions, love, grief, friendship, as privations are the same in their origin. It is the display of these traits in the humble and lowly, found in the writings of one now dead, that has brought garlands to his grave. Are not the poor and lowly all the sons of God.? Shall they, because of their lack of good influences in early life, be thought less of than myself? Behold in me their nature, which is mine. See in all those possible Christs whom to love is a privilege. This is the gospel of the fatherhood of God not preached in vain. It is this gospel which has done so much for humanity, in giving free govern- ments, and all the institutions of learning, hospitals for the sick ; that has abolished tyrannies, established democracies, reformed our prisons. It is this gospel which has been exemplified in the deeds of Florence Nightingale. But the grandest conquests by this gospel lie still in the future. Institutions are to be reformed, and the cus- toms of society changed. Heretofore crime has been considered the violent rupture of the 78 ligaments that bind the individual to society; hence our penal system is used to banish the criminal from the pale of society. No doubt criminals should be punished, but justice without liiercy is retributive justice and no justice. That system^ in dealing with the malefactor as so much bone and muscle to be punished, crushes out what little manhood remains, and compels him to continue in crime to perpetuate his own life. So criminals increase. It is now real- ized that in our penal system ten criminals are made for every one that is cured. Treating men as cattle, it makes thejn cattle, and well may it be said, he who enters here must leave his soul behind. See this system by which the prison keeper grows rich ; the criminal is bound out to contractors, who become rich on his unrequited labors. He is cuffed and beaten, and if he happens to show the least display of manly, resentment for ill-treatment, and having no ^ means of appealing to the people as against the prison warden, he is subjected to torture. We find him without sympathy, deprived of social pleasures, without employment for his thoughts, without books by which he can converse with the spirits of the dead. Who can approach him without injury by contact ? Without any of the appli- ances by which he may be helped to a better life, he becomes utterly crushed. Convicts are utterly damned for this life so soon as they enter your penitentiaries. But the greater punishment comes after imprisonment. Criminals are under the ban of public opinion. That follows them after the release from prison. The lecturer illustrated this by the case of a young man who, just released from an Illinois prison, had applied to him for assistance, but whom he did not dare to leave in his home alone without having a friend to watch him. The young man felt the lack of confidence exhibited and suffered extremely, and the lecturer said he had been taught a lesson. It matters not that a man has been in prison ; if he desires to reform he should be treated as a fellow-man, and encouraged to persevere in his new life. Reform is needed in the management of prisons. Is there no remedy for the justice that drives its victim forth to the commission of other crimes."* Is there no remedy for this close confinement, this nausea, these narrow cells, the cages worse than those of the menagerie that confine hyenas, the instruments of torture, the tying of 79 thumbs as a means of the elevation of aspirations ? Shame, shame on a civilization that tolerates such things ! Shame on such brotherhood ; shame on such a religion that permits these infamies ! Yet, men of Missouri, they are perpetrated in your own State. I have a letter from a young man who was confined in jail on charges of which he was afterwards acquitted. He says the cells where he was confined were five by seven feet, never clean, the mattresses had never been washed, but were full of filth ; one prisoner had been in his cell eight months befon? he was permitted to walk in the hall. There were no spoons, or knives, or forks, or towels. Although sixty-five cents per day was paid for board, the county jailer gave each- prisoner only two or four biscuits made of black flour, two ounces of corn bread, and two ounces of meat, and this oftentimes rotten. Then there was water, boiled, sprinkled with burnt flour and salt and pepper, and called soup. Men were beaten and pinioned but I cannot go on. * I can only say that the only retribution I would visit, would be that each man who inflicts such things should be obliged to suffer them. Recently one of your own pet institutions was accidently thrown open, and there was revealed a sight shocking to the community. This is the case not in one prison, but in all. Our churches expend millions in sending religion to the other side of the earth, yet here at home there is worse suffering than that caused by the inhuman slave ti-ade. These men are our brothers to whom you have been doing all this evil. Rub the soil from a dirty face and you will oftentimes find a pure soul beneath. Deal with them as you would with your boy- hood's friends. The strongest of us may fall. See the temptations on all sides. Justice permits the licensing of grog-shops, and no official hand dashes the fatal cup from youthful lips. The law knows that two-thirds of its victims can trace back their crimes to whiskey. Boards of health know that tenement-houses reek with filth and disease. Governments blow up houses to prevent the spread of fire. Quarantines prevent the landing of infected people, yet society is an accomplice in the crimes committed against it. But mercy shall have its triumph, for vengeance has worked long enough. Humanity has ceased to respect the gray hairs of wrong. It resents as insults things not complained of. It says to kings and 8o priests, Beware how you deal with that which is mightier than crowns and mitres, and is dangerous to tamper with. A brighter day is coming, and the star worshippers of old must go back or give up their creed. When the people shall have seen clearer, they shall walk in a diviner light. The lecturer then explained his purpose in giving the lecture, which was to assist Miss Gilbert, who is seeking to aid prisoners by giving them mental food in the form of libraries. He invited his hearers to make a handsome Christmas present, in the form of books or money. A collection was then taken up, and the congregation was dismissed. St. Louis Republic^an^ Dec. 30, 1873. PRISON REFORM. Address Pronounced at the Opening of the International Penitentiary Commission, at Brussels, Belgium, Septem- ber 10, 1873, t\ E. C. Wines, D.D., LL.D., President of the Commission. Gentlemen of the International Penitentiary Commis- sion, AND Honorable Colleagues: Convened in this beautiful city, the capital of a country early and honorably distinguished for its profound study of the penitentiary question, and its enlightened application of the principles of penitentiary science, we may fitly exchange congratulations on the progress already attained, and on the cheering outlook for the future of our great work. The Congress of London, to which this body owes its existence and its power of of useful action, was an event of the highest significance. It was one of those events which mark, with the clearness of sunlight, the progress of humanity ; a landmark in the march of ages ; a veritable epoch in the history of penitentiary science and prison reform. Gentlemen of the Commission, we all know the remarkable success of the Congress of London, for we were all there to see it for our- selves. It was a great gathering in many respects: great in the 8i extent of the territories from which it drew its members ; great in the number of governments and peoples represented in it ; great in the elements which composed it ; great in the work which it accom- plished ; and great in the results which have already flowed from it, and in those which are destined to flow, in increasing volume, through coming ages, from the same prolific fountain. The creation of the present Commission, gentlemen, grew out of a suggestion which I had the honor to offer in the last of the circu- lars addressed by me, while engaged in the work of organizing the Congress, to the several national committees which co-operated in that work, to the effect that it would be desirable, with a view to continue and multiply the benefits flowing from the proposed Con- gress, that some permanent international organization should be effected. The form given by the Congress to the organization thus suggested was that of a permanent International Penitentiary Com- mission, charged primarily with the duty of establishing a compre- hensive practical system of international penitentiary statistics : and, also, with the further duty of a sort of general care and oversight of other penitentiary questions, having an international relation and bearing. It was well understood, at the time of its creation, that the honor- able Secretary of the Commission, Mr. Beltrani-Scalia, of Italy, would take the laboring oar in preparing a series of forms for recording the statistical information to be sought from the various countries of the civilized world. This duty Mr. Scalia has dis- charged with his accustomed ability, and in a manner worthy of his wide and high reputation as a criminal statistician. I am happy to announce that a considerable number of the governments of Europe have signified their purpose to fill up, with the necessary figures, the admirable formulas sent to them, and thus, so far as they are concerned, supply the Commission with the statistics asked. As regards my own country, a word of explanation is necessary. The National Government at Washington has no prisons of its own, and does concern itself with penitentiary matters ; consequently, all the prisons of the United States are under the jurisdiction of the States in which they are severally found. Of course there is no common bond of union between them ; no general administration 6 82 of the whole country ; and no uniform system of statistics. Indeed, beyond the State prisons (called in Europe convicts' prisons, or cen- tral prisons), a few houses of correction (for this class of prisons is not found in most of our States), and the juvenile reformatories, statistics of any value are wholly wanting. There is no existing organization, except the National Prison Association, a voluntary society still in its infancy, which can gather penitentiary statistics from the whole country ; and even when gathered, it would be diffi- cult to reduce them to common formulas. To accomplish this object would be a work of time, and requiring no inconsiderable expenditure of money. Still, the Association wa's willing to under- take the task, and, in that view, applied last winter to Congress for a subsidy of $10,000. This was voted by the Senate, but rejected by the House of Representatives. Still, our hope is that this was only a postponement of the aid sought, and that on another trial, the result will be more favorable. We shall hardly be able to fill up the formulas for the current year, but shall hope to do something in this direction next year. I cannot forbear, in this connection, a passing remark on the supreme importance of a uniform system of penitentiary statistics for the entire civilized world, since such a system is absolutely essential to broad and solid progress in this most important depart- ment of social science. The laws of social phenomena can be ascertained only through the accumulation of facts. Returns of such facts, carefully gathered from a wide field of observation, and skilfully digested and tabulated, are indispensable to enable us to judge of the effect of any criminal code or penitentiary system which may have been put in operation. What we want to know is the facts ; but a knowledge of the facts relating to so complex a subject as that of crime and criminal administration implies a mass of figures, collected from all quarters, and arranged with reference to some well-defined end. The local and the special are to little purpose here. It is the general only that has value ; that is to say, returns so numerous, so manifold, and drawn from so wide a field of observation and amid such diversified circumstances, as to give real significance to the results. It is such returns alone that, will yield inferences of practical value. We want to get an average; 83 but in order to do this, we must have scope and variety enough, both in the range and character of our returns, to be enabled to eliminate from them whatever is local and accidental, and to retain only what is general and permanent. Only on this condition will our conclu- sions as to what constitutes the essence of the matter be sound and safe. Only on this condition shall we be able to feel that our infer- ences rest, not upon mere incidents of the phenomena, which may be partial, casual, and immaterial ; but upon the phenomena them- selves, apart from variations which are only temporary or adventi- tious. In proportion as our facts are gathered from narrow limits and confined to short periods of time, our generalizations will be unsafe as a basis of argument, for we can never be sure that the mere accidents of the experiment may not have determined the character of the result. A practice founded on conclusions arrived at in this way, though scientific in form, would be empirical in fact ; and dogmatism would have been mistaken for induction. Nor can this false reasoning be corrected otherwise than by returns which, if not universal, are at least general ; that is to say, broadly compre- hensive of both space and time. A question of the greatest importance will undoubtedly come before this commission at its present meeting, viz. : Shall another International Penitentiary Congress be convened.? If this question is answered in the affirmative, three others will immediately arise, viz. : I. When shall the new Congress be held.? 2. Where shall it be con- vened } 3. On what bases shall it be organized .? I will briefly con- sider these questions in their order. I. Shall another International Penitentiary Congress be convened 1 Here I desire to cite an extract from a letter addressed to me last autumn by an honored member of this commission, Mr. Pols, of Holland, who says : " The great aim of such Congress is to stir pub- lic opinion and give it a mighty impulse in some direction. This aim, I think, has been fully attained by the London Congress, and as I believe that public opinion rules the world, not only in free coun- tries, like yours and mine, but even in states seemingly directed by an uncontrolled executive power, the indirect results of the Con- gress will soon appear, and our (or as I do not hesitate to say your) work will be proven not to have been fruitless. The thoroughly prac- 84 lical and scientific character of the proceedings, the earnest and, on many points, exhaustive discussions, and the unanimous accord finally reached concerning so many great and important principles of penitentiary discipline, insure its success, which will prove the greater, as it will be wpn by instillation and not l)y strong measures^ too soon in general nullified by reactions. Nor do I think it one of the least remarkable results of the Congress that men, so widely diverging as to the means of working out common principles, have met one another without any contention or personal strife, but, without an exception that I am aware of, have shown the greatest esteem for their strongest antagonists, the largest toleration for adverse opinions. The absence of petty jealousies and personal van- ities insures, as I believe, an impartial and broad consideration of the rival systems." A Congress of which so much can be truly said, and I believe all this to be true, must, of necessity, be repeated. I therefore look for a unanimous vote from the Commission in favor of holding another Congress, similar in character and design to the one which met last year in London. II. W/ien shall such Congress be convened ? My personal opinion as to the most suitable time for holding the Congress is so closely related to my conception of what the Congress itself should be, that is, of the manner in which it should be constituted, that it will be necessary to develop the latter before I can state the former in a way to give to it the proper force. I conceive it, then, to be most desirable that the next International Penitentiary Congress should be a body representing, literally and absolutely, the whole civilized world. I would wish every nation, state, province, and colony on the globe to be there by its delegates. In short, I desire the Congress to be, in the true and full sense, an Ecumenical Penitentiary Council, drawn from broader territories and more distant regions than were ever represented in any Ecumenical Ecclesiastical Council, sum- moned by papal authority. It is evident that the organizing of such a body would be a work involving immense labor in the three forms of travel, negotiation, and correspondence. I do not believe that so great a work can be accomplished before the summer of 1876. At least, it would not be safe to calculate upon its accomplishment at an earlier date. I therefore propose the summer or autumn of 1876 85 as the most fit time for convening the Congress, which I have assumed would be voted by the Commission. But such a work as I have suggested will not accomplish itself. Somebody must do it. Where is the agent to undertake the task ? I can only say, in the words of a prophet in response to a higher summons, " Here am I, send me." I have already spent three years of incessant and exhausting toil in organizing three Penitentiary Congresses (two national and one international) ; and I am willing to give three more such years to this one, the preparation for which would be equal in its exactions to that of the three others, since it would necessitate the circumnavigation of the globe and journey ings from the frozen regions of the North to the equally frozen regions of the South. III. Where shall the proposed Congress be held? On this point I hold no opinion with such strength that I would not readily yield it to that of the majority of my colleagues of the commission. My personal choice would be the city of New York, in my own country ; first, because 1876 being the One Hundredth Anniversary of our existence as a nation, there is to be that year, as a part of its appropriate celebration, a great International Exposition at Phila- delphia, which will draw people from all parts of the world ; and, secondly, because New York would be a point more accessible than any city in Europe to the States of South America^ all of which will, I trust, be represented, and also to the nations and provinces of the East. If, however, the continent of Europe be fixed upon, Switzerland would be my preference ; and if that country should be chosen, it would, I suppose, be a matter of course that Berne or Geneva should be the city to receive the Congress. IV. On what bases shall the Congress be organized? On this point I desire first to cite a passage in a letter received last autumn from an honorable member of this commission, Mr. Stevens, of Belgium, who says : " If another Congress shall be held, I would propose I. That all discussions take place in the French language. 2. That the questions to be considered be published at least three months before the opening of the Congress. 3. That the number of these questions be restricted as much as possible, and all those excluded which are not "of an international interest. 4. That each country 86 prepare a complete exposition of its penitentiary situation, similar to that furnished by Belgium to the Congress of London, and communicate it to the permanent International Commission some months in advance of the assembling of the Congress. 5. That the Congress meet in Europe, in one of the large cities of the conti- nent." Mr. Stevens adds : " I think that in this way the discussions will be better prepared, and that the Congress will be able to vote resolutions, whose authority will be incontestable." On the fifth proposition of Mr. Stevens I have already expressed my view^, and have nothing to add. On the second I am entirely in accord with my valued correspondent. On the third the same ; only I suppose that nearly every question, connected with , penitentiary manage- ment, which is important for one country has an equal importance for others, so that I do not see that the second branch of the propo- sition would be much of a restriction. I am in favor of the proposed limitation of questions to be considered, among other reasons, because I hope that these international penitentiary reun- ions will be repeated at least as often as the Greek Olympiads once every four years. The fourth suggestion of our excellent colleague seems to me to be one of great importance. I would add the expression of a deep conviction that the question of preventive and reformatory work should be made prominent in the next Congrqss, and that an exposition of the actual status of that work in each country should form a part of the report to be communicated to this Commission. I have some doubt whether the first proposi- tion of my friend ought to be made one of the bases in the organi- zation of the new Congress. " 1 have expressed already the conviction that it is extremely desirable that the Congress should be a World's Conference in the broadest and most absolute sense ; that represen- tatives should be found in it from every civilized nation under heaven. I fear that the restriction of the Congress to the use of a single language would materially interfere with the success of that idea; and I am, therefore, strongly inclined to give to the coming reunion at least as broad a liberty in the use of different tongues as was allowed to the Congress of London. No doubt there are some inconveniences attending tHe employment of several languages in an international convention; but the chief of them is the delay 87 occasioned by the necessity of translation. The addition, however,, of two or three days to the sessions would, to my mind, be a far less evil than the exclusion of perhaps a score or more of nations and states from the Congress. If it should be objected that the commu- nities which would stay away from the conference on this ground would not be likely to contribute much to its deliberation, I answer by saying that the question is not one of communicating simply, but of receiving as well. It is a question of doing good no less than of obtaining it. If Japan, China, Egypt, Palestine, and the South American States should not add -much to our stock either of facts or principles, they might all receive immense benefits from a parti- cipation in the conference. Thus the world itself would be set forward in its great work of civilization, and society would every- where make progress in virtue, wisdom, order, reform, and happiness. Gentlemen of the Commission, and honored Colleagues: I have already alluded to the early interest and advanced position taken in penitentiary reform by the country which has offered us her hospi- tality for the present meeting. But I should fail to do justice either to my own feelings or to our honored host, if I did not add a word or two to what I have already said. Belgium has been, pre-eminently, the pioneer of the world in this good work. Thanks to a citizen of whom any country might be proud, the Viscount Vilian XIV., cer- tainly one of the wisest and most gifted statesmen who have ever contributed by the light and warmth of their genius to the progress of humanity, it is just one hundred years ago that a penitentiary was opened in the neighboring city of Ghent, in which were intelli- gently and successfully applied nearly all the great principles which the world is even to-day but slowly and painfully seeking to intro- duce into prison management. What are those principles } Reform- ation of criminals as the supreme end to be kept in view ; hope, as the great regenerati^ve force in prisons; industrial labor, as another of- the vital forces to be employed to the same end ; religious and scholastic education and training, as a third force belonging to the same category; abbreviations of sentence and participation in earn- ings, as incentives to be held out to prisoners to diligence, good con- duct, and effort at self-improvement ; the enlistment of the will of the criminal in the work of his own .moral regeneration his new 88 birth to a respect for the laws ; the introduction of a variety of trades into prisons, and the thorough mastery by every prisoner of some one handicraft, as supplying the means of honest support after dis- charge ; the use of the law of love and kindness, as an agent in prison discipline, to the exclusion, as far as possible, of the grosser forms of force, which act upon the will mainly through the body; the utter worthlessness of short imprisonments, and the absolute necessity of longer terms, even for minor offences, as the sole con- dition of the application to such offenders of reformatory processes ; and the care, education, and industrial training of the children of the poor, and of other children addictM to vagrant habits, or otherwise in peril of falling into crime an anticipation, in essential features and aims, of the industrial school and juvenile reform- atory of the present day. Even the illustrious Howard was a different man from what he would have been, and wrought a higher and nobler work for humanity thafi he would have accomplished, but for the inspiration he received from his repeated visits to the penitentiary of Ghent. I can ask nothing better, gentlemen, than that the same inspiration may breathe upon our hearts and guide our counsels in the work which has called us together from so many different and distant countries. LETTER FROM SIGNOR DASSI TO MISS GILBERT. New York, 8th May, 1876. My dear Friend : We boast of the achievements of our civilization, we consider the modern conquests and supreme victories of the human spirit, but, when we look to the future, we see an ocean of evils that afflict humanity, as if inexorable facts impose upon man the sorrowful spectacle of moral and physical misery. You have, and with reason, made an onslaught upon these ini- quities, believing that good is possible. This consideration has conducted your noble heart to dedicate yourself entirely to the grandest philanthropic work : the redemption of the fallen. 89 All your forces, moral and physical, are consecrated to proclaim Justice and to condemn the brute force that anihilates it, at the same time to save inconsistent society from terrible reactions. You have had the holy inspiration, the courage, energy, and faith alone and unaided to initiate the work ; proving with facts the cer- tainty of happy results. It is not the first time I confer with you upon this grave ques- tion ; you know how much interest I have entertained, how much I desire to see your work vigorously diffused, organized, and conducted with that love, activity, and energy which you have, from your youth, applied to promote and establish it. Therefore, on arriving in this land of liberty, my first thought recurred to you. It is natural. What reform is more necessary, more urgent, more just, than the rehabilitation of the prisoner.^ And what circum- stance is more propitious and favorable than the Centennial Exhibi- tion, where all nations unite to celebrate the conquests achieved, in and through peace, liberty, science and labor, and to proclaim justice in all and for all ? The arduous problem which you have attempted and partially solved is a problem which concerns the whole of humanity, and I am persuaded that it will attain solution. The nation is the grandest manifestation of human goodness. But too often the ignorace, the abjectness of spirit, renders many who fall unable to rise again. You have undertaken to destroy these perpetuated, great evils by the rehabilitation of the prisoner. Society is intensely interested in your enterprise. I am therefore persuaded that your appeal to the public will meet with favor and support. It concerns the salvation of society itself, to convert an element of disorder into an element of order. The grandeur and utility of your work will be recognized by all. America, the native land of the greatest, noblest philanthropies, ancient and modern, will not remain deaf to your appeal, nor will your voice be a voice in the desert. Abide faithful in the future ! The victory shall not fail you ! 90 It has been providential that a woman of America initiates the practical rehabilitation of the prisoners. A woman is the angel of the vision, the inspiration of all the most elevated and noble senti- ments, and the dignity of humanity is resplendent in her virtue. You deserve universal gratitude. Your name is sacred to all and an lionor to your sex. Ever faithfully advance ! Enjoy life, health and happiness, and believe me to l)e, with profound admiration. Yours, Giuseppe Dassi. THE MISSION OF WOMAN. To THE Editor of the Eco cT Italia : I owe you a debt of gratitude for the affectionate wi rds and encouragement you have on several occasions given me through your distinguished paper, exhorting me to persevere in the path of charity towards the poor prisoners. When an illustrious patriot, beloved among our most deserving countrymen, honors me with his counsels, I am sensible of my own insignificance and of the efficient help extended to me by yourself, by Saffi, my esteemed godfather Garibaldi, General Avezzana, by Filopanti, Giorgio Pallavicini, Riciardi, my beloved friends Signo- rina Gualberta Alaide Beccari, the able and esteemed editress of Za Donna^ the ladies Giorgina Saffi, Lazzati, Ravizza, and many other noble hearts. You see, dear sir, that I have very little merit in following such experienced and able workers, who, co-operating with my dear par- ents, facilitate my way and stimulate my perseverance in the enter- prise. Women have, in the family and in society, a mission of peace and love, which must by all means be upheld, if they would not lose the sweet and efficacious influences they exercise upon philan- thropic enterprise. The moral and physical evils that afflict humanity in general are grave, and we find them aggravated as we descend to the poorer multitudes. 91 In fact, ignorance, first cause of all the misery, all the guilt and anguish, brutalizes the spirit and hardens the heart. These inexorable plagues of delinquency are aggravated by the inability of the poor, discharged prisoner to rehabilitate himself. Italy has a few institutions of patronage for the prisoners, but, in the main, they perform their functions neither with alacrity nor energy, they are isolated, a^nd so to say individualized. Generous and philanthropic hearts are not wanting among us, but they should unite and co-operate in order to be able the better to attend to and regulate questions of economy, of morals and of providing labor and instruction for the prisoners. This work of redemption of the poor fallen is felt to be urged by a universal impulse, and here, under favorable auspices, I hope, will speedily succeed. A powerful incentive has come to me from my dear friend. Miss Linda Gilbert of New York. Her sacrifices, her courage, her self- denials, her energy and her constancy have inspired and determined me 'to follow her example. We in Italy anxiously watch this great benefactress, and wait impatiently to see her assisted in her sacred work. When I see entire families, women, girls, and boys, plunged into demoralization, because the head of the family had the misfortune to be imprisoned, perhaps for but a trivial offence, my heart aches and I ask myself, if this man (I speak not of exceptional cases of perver- sity) gives proofs of sincere penitence, would like to work and be honest, should he not reasonably have some hope to be again received in society, to make himself useful and to save himself and his innocent family from ruin.? The popular indifference and callousness that would evade such reflections, haunts me as a painful dream, a thing inconceivably monstrous and dangerous to society, whose study it should be to diminish the evils which befall a state from practices subversive of justice and destructive to the true interests of society. But this in fact is the absolute truth, and in order to demonstrate the gravity of the evil I occupy myself with a statistical work shortly to be published. Therefore, my dear sir, in the spirit that guides my work, I pray 92 you further to grant me your efficacious assistance and to accept as an acknowledgment of my indebtedness to you, the gratitude and esteem with which I subscribe, dear sir. Yours devotedly, Leontina Dassi. A HAUNTED MAN. From the New York ''Sunr To THE Editor of the Sun Sir : It is quite useless, of course, in the existing state of public sentiment, to lift up one's feeble voice against the execution of the death penalty by hanging ; and I should not trouble myself, as to the Dolan affair reported in your columns this morning, to enter an unavailing protest, were it not that, from experience of my own, I am firmly convinced of the morbid nervous tendencies attendant upon witnessing executions, and even upon perusal of their details as pictured by the graphic hand of the practised reporter. I have met persons on whom such spectacles operated as a morbid nervous stimulant, and who would walk leagues rather than miss being present at the execution of a murderer ; just as I have met old ladies who would regard it as a real deprivation to miss a funeral for leagues about, and have been heard to complain dolefully when two funerals happened on the same afternoon. For myself, I have reported a number in the course of a long ser- vice as daily journalist, and I verily believe that executions are self- perpetuating self-perpetuating because murders, by some strange psychological law, can often be traced to the morbid incitation and the almost uncontrollable nervous sympathy that such spectacles engender. I was present at the execution of Gonzales and Pellicier in the Raymond street jail-yard, Brooklyn. It was a still, semi- darkened, rainy afternoon, or, rather, it drizzled and misted in place of raining, as if somehow the weather was holding its breath and waiting for the affair to be over, before proceeding to business : and, to strengthen the fancy that such was the case, just after that horrible clatter in the box that contained the Dennis of the event had sub- 93 sided, it came down in earnest for a few minutes, and dripped drea- rily from the black cross-beam, and from the black figures with clown's caps on their heads, though the caps were as black as the rest. And as the drops gathered into larger drops, and fell steadily upon the platform, nervous as I was, and sick at heart, their devilish tattoo worked its way into my brain in such a manner that I have lost since then one of the pleasantest things in life that of listening to rain- drops. I saw them hanging there, and broke into a paroxysm of nervous laughter that shocked the solemn sheriff, the deputies talk- ing in low tones, and the bullet-headed executioner, and made the latter look calculatingly at my neck. Since then a bubble of happy laughter has an inhibiting influence on the optic nerve. I dread to laugh or hear the sweetest laughter; for I see myself sitting in a jail- yard in the rain, with two suspended corpses motioning toward me with their feet, and deputies wondering why a man should laugh when he wasn't tickled. But^ that is not the worst of it. No matter where I am, or in what agreeable society, with any sudden darkening of the atmosphere, as of the sun passing behind a cloud, I see two black figures swinging under a black cross-beam a few feet from my eyes. It is not a mere recollection of the thing, with its attendant mental spectre, but a vivid reproduction external to myself; such that the gallows and the figures swinging to and fro in the rain are actually before me as they were that day, ah, and that night, too ! for what terrible dreams I had, with a thick-set, clean-shaven man, wearing a stiff, round- crowned hat, flitting in and Out of a box, and taking a specially demoniac delight in making a clatter. And after each clatter came a black cross-beam of terrible dimensions and two limp but gigantic figures suspended from it by cords ridiculously too small to hang giants with. A thousand things operate as reminders. Sometimes, when I am particularly nervous, a transom over the door, or a long black sign-board, or the sight of a man very thick-necked and bullet- headed, or a round-crowned hat exposed in a hatter's window brings on the horrible vision, and if T shut my eyes I see it all the more. The result is, sir, that I am a haunted man, and always expect to be so as long as I live ; and I am firmly convinced that there are others who are similarly haunted by nervous pictures of the same 94 kind. Why not execute with hemlock (extract of conium) as the Greeks did, in place of poisoning lunatics with it ? Why not make a logical application of anaesthesia ? Why not let condemned men pass into awful and menacing silence from the moment of sentence? I concede, sir, that hanging is picturesque terribly picturesque savagely so. I see two black figures swinging in the rain at this moment, and I shall see them all night long; and you can readily imagine how, in many temperaments, a morbid impression of this kind may pass into a morbid impulse and impel irresistibly to the tragedy by which it was engendered. Francis Gerry Fairfield. New York, April 22, 1876. FLOGGING THE PRISONERS. HOW IT IS DONE IN KINGS COUNTY PENITENTIARY. A visitor to the Kings County Penitentiary was surreptitiously handed a letter addressed to the editor of The Sun, of which the following are extracts : " There is an officer connected with the penitentiary, by name. He has charge of the hall, and takes delight in cow- hiding prisoners for little or no cause. He has many pets among the convicts, and any prisoner that he dislikes he can find pretext for punishing by sending one of his favorites along the tier to so-and- so's cell. 'Bring him down if he is talking or making a noise.' The favorite knows what this means, and hauls down the victim to be cowhided by the keeper until the shirt and flesh are cut with the lash. This done the tyrant cries out so as to be heard all along the tier : ' Get him another shirt and send him back to his cell.' One prisoner named Robert Burns is insane, and Donnelly has cowhided him until his flesh is black and blue." James Shevelin, a very young-looking man, is the warden of the institution. He has been in charge for three years, and is a good executive officer in all things pertaining to the personal comfort of the prisoners, and to making the institution self-supporting. When the reporter told Mr. Shevelin the object of his visit yesterday, the 95 latter at once offered every facility for inquiry, saying that while the fact of occasional flogging was freely admitted, he relied upon being able to show that it had only been administered when no other punishment served to maintain discipline. Robert Burns was sought in the shoe factory, where over five hundred men, women, and children were turning leather into shoes. He was moping lazily alongside a pile of leather scraps. His life has been spent in crime, and twelve out of his forty years have been passed in prison. In the Auburn prison he one day struck a fellow- convict with a stone hammer and nearly killed him. His record there was that of a sullen, insubordinate, lazy prisoner. In his next imprisonment in Sing Sing he was concerned in the revolt in which Keeper Jeffrey was killed. Burns was believed to be his muderer, but was acquitted upon trial. While undergoing a short sentence on Blackwell's Island he escaped, but was arrested within a month in the residence of Dr. McCann, at Broadway and Fulton street, Williamsburg. He had entered the house with the assistance of a jimmy, and a full kit of burglars' tools was in his possession.- He was convicted and is undergoing a four years' sentence. "You have an easy job," the reporter remarked. " It's what they set me at," he replied, between his set teeth. " I've just come out of five days in the dark cell." "What were you put in there for.''" " Because I got sick and said so. I had just eaten dinner and commenced work when I got a misery in my stomach all of a sudden. I cried out 'I'm poisoned,' and asked to be sent to the hospital. Instead of sending me to the hospital they just crammed me into a dark cell, and have kept me there ever since. I vomited before I got to the cells. That shows I was sick, don't it ? They put me in the dark cell for all that." " Have you ever been punished in any other way ?" ' ^ " Yes. They've cowhided me twice. See here ; the marks are on my back yet," said he, baring his back. Several stripes across the shoulders told where the whip had fallen. They were healed, but the lines were clearly visible, although the blows were struck two weeks ago. Baring his other shoulder, he 96 showed lines unliealcd, where the thong had gone deeper than the skin. "See there," said he; "they fairly cut the meat off that shoulder. They cut the shirt to pieces. I was so sick that I could not eat for a day afterward." "Why were you whipped thus? " asked the reporter. " Because I was sick and wanted to go to the hospital. I have a pain here (pressing his left side), and it hurts me to work. Men abler to work were left in the cells." " How many shoe tongues can you cut out in a day V " From one hundred to one hundred and thirty." The reporter asked another convict working close by how many shoe tongues he could cut in a day. "From a thousand to twelve hundred," was the reply. "Are any of the prisoners treated better than you are? " queried the reporter. "Yes, every keeper has his pets, suckers we call them. They get their food from the hospital and keeper's kitchen ; have butter for their bread, good meat, and good tea. They pay for it by telling stories about the other prisoners." " Have any of the others been whipped ? " ' "I know four others that were whipped. I did not see them cowhided. mind you. When we are in the cells we cannot see what goes on at the other end of the corridor. We can hear though ; and I heard blows, and heard the keeper say when he got through, 'Take off that bloody shirt and give him another.' Their names were Bird, Chase, Cunningham, and Carmody." Chase, Bird, Cunningham, and Carmody were summoned into the reception-room. Chase and Carmody denied that they had ever been subjected to the lash. They admitted, however, that they had occasionally deserved and had been subjected to other punishment, such as short rations and the dark cell. Cunningham, who is in for burglary, admitted that he had been cowhided. He said that he supposed he was whipped because he knocked a fellow-convict off a bench and would probably have killed him had he not been prevented. His provocation was a fancied insult. A keeper had applied the cowhide, and it was well laid on. 97 Bird's case was somewhat harder. In the fight for which he was sentenced, a knife was driven into his right eye. Since his imprison- ment his left eye has been gradually becoming blind from sympathy. The surgeon had given up his case as hopeless, and he was remanded to the workshop as an incurable, who must be made self-supporting. One morning, desperate at loss of sight and a sense of injustice at being forced to work under such circumstances, he refused to go to the shoeshop. The keeper found him in the cells several hours afterward, and Bird returned insolence for tyranny, and the result was a flogging with a cowhide. None of the prisoners could recall any other cases of flogging. Warden Shevelin said that it had been his earnest desire to do without the lash, which was a legacy of his predecessors. Bird's flogging, he said, he had then heard of for the first time. Cunningham was flogged foi just the reason the prisoner had assigned, and he believed that it had been well timed if not legally authorized. As for Burns, his entire inprisonment had been devoted to unceasing efforts to ''beat "the prison discipline. Soon after his admission he feigned sickness, refused food for five days, and clamored to be admitted to the hospital. He was admitted, although Dr. Zabriskie could not perceive any very marked morbid symptoms. His appetite improved amazingly after admission. Five days afterward he was missed from the hospital, and after some search he w^as found on the roof, whither he had climbed through a narrow space between the iron bars and the high Gothic windows. He had a rope made of strips of his blankets and sheets, was provided with a jimmy, and was evidently bent upon speedy deliverance. Next day Dr. Zabriski ordered him to work. For months he cut out no more than from 20 to 30 pairs of shoe tongues, while other convicts easily averaged 500 or 1,000 pairs. In July last the contractors agreed to pay seventy-seven cents per diem for the labor of each convict, inste'ad of fifty-five, as theretofore, and they refused to pay for Burns's labor any longer unless he should be compelled to do a day's work. The surgeon pronounced him physically capable of working, and it would have ended in the subversion of discipline to confess that they were unable to compel his labor. Hence, merely as a measure of discipline, he was punished first by the dark cell, then 98 by short rations Frequent repetitions failed to effect any improve- ment, and the lash was used. The keeper is not a man to whom one would look for kind and sympathetic treatment. His manner with the prisoners is abrupt and dictatorial, and the felons receive his orders with an abject humility often observed in whipped spaniels. When asked to show his cowhide he demurred, and would probably have refused anything short of the sharply authoritative order of Warden Shevelin. The whip is about a yard long. It is made of raw hide, curled around a hickory withe. The handle end is about an inch in diameter, and it tapers gradually to a quarter of an inch at the end, which is very flexible. The tip is frayed as if it had been used either very long or very frequently. A very moderate stroke would reach the blood of a bared back. Swung by Keeper Donnelly's brawny arm it might do the same through several thicknesses of clothing. As Warden Shevelin entertained doubts as to the legality of such punishment, the following clause of the State prison regulations is worthy of his perusal : " No keeper in any State prison shall inflict any blows whatever upon any convict, unless in self-defence, or to suppress a revolt or insurrection. If it shall be deemed necessary in any case to resort to unusual punishment to produce obedience, the convict shall be confined in a solitary cell on short allowance, such allowance to be prescribed by the physician to the prison." The use of the lash has been brought to the knowledge of the Brooklyn Supervisors, and the Committee on Prisons will sit at an early day to investigate. Warden Shevelin was their informant. 99 AN APPEAL TO THE PUBLIC By Miss Gilbert. The whole of this book partakes of the nature of an appeal to the community. It must be remembered that, having been identified with this work for many years, prisoners come to me from all directions, applying for assistance. So far, this work has all been accomplished by my energies and means. After having expended forty thousand dollars, and given years of my life, I am still obliged to carry the burden of the work alone. Since my losses by the Chicago fire, it was only by a great struggle that it has been kept alive, and I have felt with a heavy heart that I must soon abandon the enterprise for want of means. The small amounts which have been contributed by friends have scarcely paid the ^ expense of raising, if we take into consideration the loss of time and the great labor attending it ; the amounts hav- ing been seciired by individual appeals. This little souvenir is published for the purpose of starting an endowment fund, as well as to educate an indifferent and unenlight- ened public to the appreciation of this subject, with the hope that it will reach those who have money and influence, and who will see the necessity of placing this important reform upon a more perma- nent foundation. A national fund of one hundred thousand dollars is needed, to be controlled by a board of trustees, and available in any part of the United States where it is most needed. Object of said fund, to furnish libraries for prisons, and employment bureaux for released prisoners. Are there no wealthy men who will take pride in endowing a work originated and successfully carried forward for many years by a lady alone ? All those who feel interested in, and would like to contribute to this endowment fund ; those who will act as trustee or appoint them, and those willing to offer or recommend positions to reformed prisoners, will please communicate with Rev. Dr. Deems, of Church of the Strangers, No. 4 Winthrop Place, New York ; or with Linda Gilbert, care H. S. Goodspeed, 14 Barclay Street, New York City. CONTENTS ^^^^S!. Dedication . . . Introduction Sketch of the Life and Work of Linda Gilbert Industry in Prisons Effect of Kind Words Should " Jail Birds" be Hunted Down? James Wilson's Will One Day Solitary Self-told History of a Reformed Prisoner Saved by a Woman . Epigram The Work in Italy . Justice and Injustice A Prisoner's Appeal Liberated Prisoners and Repeated Crime Penitentiary Reform Prison Libraries Good and Evil Hell's Half Acre The Pickpocket's Petition . Behind the Bars Report of Miss Gilbert's Work in New York City Report of Miss Gilbert's Work in Other States Rules and Regulations that govern each Library The Outcast .... A Modern Jail . . The Night before the Gallows The Starving Murderer A Case with a Moral Charity ..... Criminals, and How to Treat them Prison Reform .... Letter from Signor Dassi to Miss Gilbert The Mission of W^oman A Haunted Man . . Flogging the Prisoners An Appeal to the Public .