Chapter V: Part 5

Not long since a man came to us who was a gentleman by education and training, a very bright and able fellow, whose fall had come by getting embroiled in corrupt politics and by extravagant, intemperate living. He thoroughly learned his lesson in prison, and showed the most earnest desire to start right in the new life. As no suitable position opened, his stay at the home had to be a long one, but each week saw a marked improvement in his character. Finding that the officer was in need of a man to take charge of the laundry, he volunteered and from early to late was as faithful over the wash tub and ironing-board as if they had been double entry or the balancing of office books. He graduated to a humble position in a big New York house where we confidently expect him to rise by his hard work and ability. Though his salary is as yet small, he writes to us letters full of contentment and gratitude, showing in every way that the new spirit has entered into him, proving clearly that he realizes that life is a thing that must be made, not merely spent.

To many the Home brings back sweet memories of a past long lost to them, but perhaps those to whom it means the most, are those who have never had much of a home to remember. It is to them a revelation, and it is wonderful to watch the development in disposition and character that takes place under the new experience. My secretary was driving away from Hope Hall after one of the evening gatherings, and as the carriage turned out of the driveway into the road, there was a pause that she might look back at the brightly lighted windows gleaming hospitably through the shade-trees which so prettily surround it. After a long look the man who was driving turned and said, "Ah! you don't know what this means to us 'boys'; the Little Mother does not, well as she understands us. No one can know but an old-timer. I tell you when you have never had a place in all your life to call home, it means something to pass through these gates and say, 'This is _my_ home,' to go into a room at night and feel, 'This is _my_ room,' to lie down on a bed of which you can say, 'This is _my_ bed.'" Then, as they drove on, he spoke of his past, and coming to the last imprisonment, which in his case was, I believe, five or six years, he added: "When the Little Mother came, I used to go into the chapel and listen with the other 'boys.' I liked to hear her talk, and I respected the men who joined the League, but I did not think of joining or becoming a Christian. I felt religion wasn't in my line. One day, however, she said, 'Boys, I've got a home for you.' That is what first made me think. I said to myself, 'Here is a woman who thinks enough of me to offer me a home, something I never had before, and if she cares that much, it is time I began to care a little myself.' So I began from that day to try and get ready for my home. When the day of liberty came, the officer on my gang said, 'I shall keep your job for you, for we expect you back before three months are out.' And no wonder he said it, for I had never been able to keep out that long before; but this time I knew it would be different."

A fine tall fellow walked into my office years ago, and the greeting that he would have spoken died on his trembling lips. He could only hold my hand in his, and battle with the tears that unnerved him. When he had taken his seat by my desk, and I had told him how glad I was over his home-coming, he said, "Little Mother, I don't know what I should do, were it not for Hope Hall to-day. I am so confused and bewildered by the rush of the great city. So strange to outside life I feel as helpless as a new-born child." Truly he was unnerved. The trembling hand, the nervous start at every sound, the stammering tongue all told the tale too painfully for any mistake. He was not naturally a nervous, emotional man. There was nothing weak or cowardly about him. I was told by companions who had known him that he was a most desperate criminal; nothing thwarted him in his past deeds, even if he had to force his point with the threatening muzzle of a revolver. He was a man of education, could speak and write several languages, was a thorough musician and had much talent and ability in other lines, but he had misused his gifts and had become a notoriously successful forger. Though for years an infidel he had proved himself an earnest Christian as a member of our League and naturally he turned to us after an experience of fifteen years within the walls. The prison from which he came was one from which no part of the surrounding town can be seen. The high walls and close confinement bury the men absolutely from the world they have left. From years of service, he was turned out to face life with but one dollar as capital with which to start in honest living. In his case the warden supplemented the bill with five dollars from his own pocket, which however the man lost in his confusion and hurry at the station. I am glad to add that when I brought the matter to the notice of the governor, and told him that our prisoners were being sent forth into the world in that state, with absolutely no means between them and starvation, he saw to it that better provision was made for them; but even where five or ten dollars is given, it is a very slender barrier between the one-time criminal and the temptations of the old life. The money is soon spent for food, lodging and car fare hither and thither, as they seek work, and what then can they do if they do not find employment? In many stores and factories the men are not paid until the end of the second week after obtaining employment, and during those two weeks while working, they must have money for food and lodging. The man of whom I have just spoken went to Hope Hall and remained there until he was thoroughly able to cope with life. He has since held a position of trust where he had the control of many men and the oversight of responsible work. He won the confidence of all who knew him in the town where he settled. They backed him in starting in business for himself and he is now married and happily settled in life. The prison experience is six years away in the shadow of the sad almost forgotten past.

Not long since, the chaplain of Charlestown, Massachusetts, wrote me of a man whom he very much wanted me to help. He said he believed the authorities would give this man a chance in liberty, if there was some one to vouch for him. He believed that the man was sincere and earnest in his desire to do right. He further stated that the Board whose duty it was to look into the cases of men who might be paroled had expressed their willingness to turn him over to me, if I were disposed to try him and give him a chance. Though only forty-six years of age, this man had spent thirty-one years in prison, counting a juvenile reformatory as the first place of incarceration. The last sentence was for thirty years under the Habitual Criminal Act. We wrote at once offering to take him to Hope Hall and the authorities gave him over to us, thus saving him twelve weary years he would otherwise have had to serve. He was unnerved and strangely restless when he first arrived. The hammock in the sunshine seemed the best place to put him that first day. In six weeks he was a new man, physically and mentally; he had gained fifteen pounds in weight and when I came across him down on his knees weeding the flower-beds, the face that looked up into mine was brown with summer tan and bright with new hope and courage. It could be truly said of this man that he had never had a chance. When his mother died, he told the chaplain he wished he could weep. He wished there was one thing in her life that could be a sweet memory, something he could think of as done for his good, but there was not one bright spot. Mother, father, sister and brother are buried in drunkards' graves and the same curse so wrecked and ruined his life that in the past he thought there was never to be any escape for him. How much Hope Hall with its fresh air, quiet surroundings, good food and cheery companionship mean to such a man only the men themselves can understand.

It is difficult in a work of this kind to chronicle its growth. To us who have been in the midst of it, the development and improvement, advance and victory are very evident, but it would need a carefully-kept journal of many volumes to impart its history to others.

The old farmhouse on Long Island has been altered and enlarged. Old walls and ceilings have been torn down to be replaced by new plaster and paint. The new wing has given us a longer dining-room for our increased family, new kitchens, laundry and storeroom, with overhead a number of new bedrooms. The farm which was somewhat of a wilderness has been put under cultivation; fruit trees, rose-bushes, vines and shrubs added each spring and fall. Each addition means much to us, far more than if we had had large capital to expend. This Home is not only for the "boys" of New York State, but for all the Eastern prisons. They come to us as readily from Charlestown and Trenton as from Sing Sing. Even the prisons we have not visited send to us some, who through the reading of the _Gazette_ have come to realize that they too are welcome.

The Western Home in Chicago has meanwhile been doing a splendid work for the "boys" from Joliet and the middle Western prisons. There we have men mostly on parole; men who would have no chance of getting their parole were it not that we are willing to be sponsors for them. We find them work, keep in touch with them month by month, and report to the prison, until we have the pleasure of handing them their final discharge papers.

The third Hope Hall is in Iowa, and has been founded and given to the "boys" of that state by our dear friend and co-laborer, Hon. L. S. Coffin. Mr. Coffin was one of the pioneers of the state and a large land owner. For a lifetime he has been earnest in temperance work and has proved himself especially the friend of the railroad men. Sometime since, his heart went out to the "boys" in prison. He met and talked with me about the work and expressed his longing to see a Hope Hall opened for them in his state. Being convinced of the wisdom and success of the Hope Hall scheme he came to New York to study our Home. Going back to Iowa he dedicated the choicest piece of his own farm to this purpose and built upon it, at a cost of over ten thousand dollars, a beautiful home.

I went on for the opening of Hope Hall number three and shall never forget the scene. Judges, lawyers, ministers and farmers, the warden and chaplain of State Prison and the members of the Prison Board of Control were all present, and in their midst an old man of over eighty whose face shone with joy, and whose voice trembled with emotion, as he realized that the day for which he had worked so faithfully single-handed had come at last. When our League work was started in Iowa, we enrolled Father Coffin (as he is lovingly called) as a member of the League, giving him its oversight for that state. When we think of his energy and devotion at his advanced age; of the new and heavy responsibilities he has shouldered in facing this great problem, we can but feel that he sets a valiant example that others will follow some day in the many other states where there is a similar need.

Statistics are not of very great interest, for they often fail to convey anything like an idea of the work accomplished. They are of course added to as months pass by, so that while the printers are at work, they have materially changed. We can say briefly, however, that of those who have come to our two Hope Halls (Hope Hall number three is only just opened), seventy-five per cent. have done well; twenty per cent. may be all right, and are often found to be so after we have apparently lost track of them; five per cent. have perhaps returned to prison. Over three thousand have passed through the two Homes. This of course does not speak of the many hundreds who were once League members and are to-day doing well all over the country, who did not need the shelter and help of Hope Hall.

The real loving pride the "boys" feel for their home has been to me very touching. Often when a man comes to say "good-bye" he can hardly do so for the tears that make his voice unsteady, and the first letters are full of homesick longing for the place that has so truly become "home, sweet home."

For the graduates who are working within reach, it is possible to run "home" for a visit on holidays, and then many happy reunions take place. On the occasion of our seventh anniversary, over seventy sat down to supper together. It had been a very bright sunny day and the grounds represented a pretty picture. The teams composed of Home "boys" and graduates were playing each other on the baseball ground; little children whose fathers had been given back to them played in the shade of the big trees; wives who had come to see the much talked of starting place that had made all life different to their dear ones, walked about the farm or listened to the music on the broad piazza and from each glad face and each cheery voice came the same expression of unutterable thankfulness for what God had accomplished.

VIII

THE SAME STORY FROM OTHER PENS

The idea of this book has been to show the subject as far as possible from the standpoint of the cell. My life has become closely enough linked with those in prison to see and feel, to know and understand the problem from their view-point. I have tried to speak for them. Now I will let them speak for themselves, that the touch may be closer and more direct than it could be through the medium of my thought and pen.

The following letter was written to the editor of our _Volunteer Gazette_ in the early days of the work, by one who had fought his own way out of difficulty, but who knew well the hard path that his one-time companions still had to tread.

"Dear Mr. Editor: I have been reading much lately in your paper, and also in the daily papers about the 'Little Mother's' work in providing a home for the fellow just out of prison. I am very glad indeed that such a work is being carried forward, for if ever there existed a class of men who need looking after it is the ex-prisoner. I recently attended one of Mrs. Booth's meetings and was deeply impressed as she made plain to her audience the great need of 'her boys.' It is very probable that I was all the more interested in view of the fact that I, many years ago, was sentenced to a term of eighteen months in the ---- Penitentiary and to-day, after the lapse of years, I very vividly recall the utter friendlessness that was my lot at that time.

"The prison was one in which the prisoners were compelled to observe the rule of silence; and my sentence carried with it also the requirements of hard labor. No person can realize fully the meaning of such a sentence except he pass through it. To sit at a work bench day after day touching elbows with your fellows, not daring to say a word becomes exquisite torture as the months pass slowly by.

"I understand that the Little Mother not only looks after the 'boys' when they come out of prison, but takes to them a gospel of love and light and peace. I do not want to disparage the work done by other Christian workers. God bless them; they mean well, but some of them fail to grasp the fact that what we wanted to hear were words of love and sympathy.

"But what I want to bring out in this is the decided contrast between coming out of prison years ago and coming out now.

"The majority of the men confined in that prison had no hope of being met at the prison door by a friend or a relative when the day of their discharge arrived, and I was one of that number. When my sentence had expired, I was given a suit of clothes and a small sum of money, and was told I was free. So I reentered the world. Free; but where could I go? My first thought was to find employment. Need I tell you of that weary search? I could furnish no recommendations. The prison pallor showed all too plainly on my face. The shuffle of the lock-step still clinging to me, with the instinctive folding of my arms when spoken to, told plainer than words where I had last been employed.

"After many days I secured work only to be dismissed when my employer was warned by a detective that he was employing an ex-convict.

"Then, at last discouraged, I joined that great army of men, known as tramps, and for a time I wandered over the country, living an aimless, hopeless life. That I am not now a tramp is due to my having been saved by the precious blood of Jesus Christ.

"So much for my experience as an ex-prisoner; but if reports be true, and if the stories told me by former associates in crime are to be believed, there has in the past four years been a very great change in the attitude of the world towards the ex-prisoner. A new sentiment has been formed and where, in my case, practically no hands were held out to help; now the world stands ready to help the ex-prisoner, who really desires to live an honest life once more.

"Years ago no door was open as a home for the ex-prisoner. To-day Mrs. Booth's three Hope Halls are spoken of all over this country of ours where the prison-weary men may find rest. Indeed I have met and talked with several of the V. P. L. men and all spoke of 'Home' in the most endearing terms. I am glad this is the condition of to-day. The vast majority of men in prison really desire to live honest lives again. But they need a champion who will help them in their new-made resolution, one who will aid them, while in prison to be true to God and themselves. One who will meet them at the prison gate upon their discharge and take them home. One who will stand between them and the frown and censure of a world which forgets that they have already been fully punished for their misdeeds. One who will aid them in finding honest employment and to whom they can always turn for help and counsel. This has in the past been the problem the prisoners had to solve. To-day it is no longer a problem.

"And yet it seems to me that the work Mrs. Booth has undertaken is still in its infancy. There are still prisons that are unreached. The serious, thinking world has recognized in this work the true solution of this mighty problem, and is grandly rallying to its support.

"I believe the day is fast approaching when every state shall have its Hope Hall and no man shall step out of state prison but that he shall find in one of them a way of escape from the temptations of crime. God hasten the day."

The next message comes from the pen of one who can truly be said to have gone through the bitterness and darkness of prison experience. In the old days, when prisons were hard, he suffered for days and nights in the dungeon. He went through the days of shame and sorrow to those of bitterness and cynicism and after his conversion, when liberty became his, he knew what it was to take up the hardest, most menial work and do it faithfully and patiently that he might regain the confidence that the life of wrong-doing had lost him. To-day these hands that have been unshackled are stretched out lovingly to help others and he goes as a messenger to homes that are bereaved and saddened, to bring practical help to the little ones of our "boys" in prison.

Speaking to me of that cry in prison which he mentions so graphically, he said, "But what is the use to write about it. The people will not understand. What we have felt and been through in prison is a foreign language to them."

Then he told me more in detail how he had often lain awake in the great still gloomy building where over a thousand men are locked away in their narrow little cells. Suddenly in the darkness and stillness of night, an awful unearthly shriek will ring out through the galleries--a cry that will make the strongest man tremble. Never in his life elsewhere has he heard anything so heart-rending and blood-curdling. He speaks of it as the cry of a soul awake in its anguish, though the weary body may be in the torpor of sleep.

"If you ask me what the V. P. L. means I should say that it is an inspiration to self-help with Christ as our anchor.

"The need, the crying necessity of this work can only be entirely known to the man who has been made over by the grace of God through the influence of this unique and wonderful work. The vaporings of alleged scientists have been taken with all seriousness by some, in derision by others, according to the ideas of the individuals, who, placing themselves in the position of the unfortunates under discussion, tried themselves and found a true bill or not according to their faith in themselves. From the adverse reports it is needless to say that these self-appointed censors of humanity had a very poor opinion of themselves and had entirely omitted God Almighty from the problem. The people of the world at large who were not scientific, put down the man behind the bars as 'no good' and dismissed the subject with indifference, so that the unfortunate found himself between the scientist and the world very much in the position of the man who fell among thieves, and who in a most desperate condition and sorely needing help, has been passed by on the other side by the priest and the Levite. They took a look at him, examined him and passed along. What the Good Samaritan means only the subject of the rescue can know. It is from that point of view I speak.

"The real punishment of the prisoner commences after the liberty he has so longed for comes. The day he looked forward to arrives, he steps out into the world a man, alone in the crowd, marked, branded, not entirely alone for he has chained to him a corpse, his dead past. At the time that success seems almost in his grasp his past arises, like an evil spirit and drags him down in the mire again. So he drifts back to his only home, the prison. The glamour of his life of crime, the follies of youth, give way to cynicism, a feeling of kismet arises that excuses his failures as being part of a fate that could not be evaded. Gladly would the man escape the wretched past and the inevitable future. Sometimes he tries, every time with less success. The past always arises. Then his physical condition is gradually changed, in many cases the habit of drugs, of opium especially has been acquired. It makes a man forget--he needs to forget by now! Again so-called liberty comes. Where can he go? A few dollars in his pocket, a cheap suit of clothes on his back, every one seems to point the finger at him. The saloon is always open, the woman with the painted face meets him, a few old chums are there, and he is welcomed back to Hell. Perhaps he is successful, turns a few good 'tricks,' puts his 'fall money' away (money to defend him in case he is arrested and also to square himself with the police) but sooner or later it is the old story,--back again to prison, a matter of course by now--but he will be more careful next time. Sometimes he thinks of the better days of long ago--it won't do, he closes the door with a snap--he hates himself, he hates the world, and if you were on the inside in the dead of night, you too would sometimes hear that awful cry of the tortured soul--that involuntary wail that makes even the night watch shrink--the soul crying against its murder while the body sleeps. Underneath all is that yearning for a better life. We get sometimes almost on the edge of the pit only to slip back farther into the abyss than before.

"You, who have lived in the beautiful country of home and loved ones, have never heard that awful cry and you never want to, for, if you did, you could never forget it.

"The men that the V. P. L. appeals to more than any others are those who are men of determined and positive natures, those who are no longer novices in crime. Strange as it may appear, these men, if you know them and have their confidence, will tell you that their life is a mistake, but that there is no escape. They are chained to the work. If a strong man can be faced about, he is just as potent for good as he once was for evil. The only way to get good out of a 'given-up' man is by the love of God, and it must be brought to him by his fellow-creatures as messengers, but, when he asks for bread, don't give him a stone. Your man behind the bars is suspicious. It is not a wonder that he is, when he is approached on the subject of help. He naturally wonders where the 'graft' comes in.

"Now this is what the V. P. L. does. When the leaders and officers of this glorious work step forward to speak to the 'boys' they know they are not in the position of 'the hired man,' that there is no 'graft' in it, that their lives are lives of sacrifice. They talk of the love of God to the men and they prove it. If you want to impress the men behind the bars, you _must_ prove it--make it real, also talk straight. Don't tell them that they should not be in prison,--they know better; don't get sentimental and weep over them, for they don't want that. The Little Mother tells them 'I don't come here to prevent you from paying the just penalty of your crimes; take your medicine like men. You know what is right, do it _now_. When you have paid the penalty, I will help you. I will nurse you back to health, I will get you work, above all, I will trust you and it depends upon you whether I keep on doing so or not. Mind, I will help you over rough places, but I won't carry you. If any of you have little ones, wives or mothers, I will help them, and as long as you are true and faithful, I will help you.' 'What then?' you ask. Well the Little Mother makes good her promise, she does all this and more. In extending her invitation to the country of the good Hope she says, 'I want you all to come. I don't care what your religion is or what your color is. All I ask is that you turn away from the old life.'

"Starving wives and little children are fed and clothed. No man in state prison ever applied for aid for his suffering loved ones in vain. When you save a man's loved ones from a fate often worse than death, he does not doubt your sincerity, when you give instead of take all the time, he believes you.

"Then he comes out of prison broken down with the nervous strain--the nights of anguish--his confidence in himself is gone. Nothing but the old life of Hell in front of him, a branded man, but the doors of Hope Halls are open! 'WELCOME' is on the door-step. Does he find some ill-smelling building with whitewashed walls that remind him of the place he has just left, abundance of advice and nothing to eat? Not at all! He enters a beautiful Home such as any gentleman in the land might be proud of, institutionalism is lacking--Home and loving sympathy greet him, dainty rooms with whitest of sheets upon nattiest of beds, an air of comfort and repose, beautiful grounds, kindness and helpfulness on every hand. Hope has its resting-place here. On the walls of one of the restful rooms in an illuminated text are these words, 'Christ is the head of this House, the unseen listener to every conversation.'

"The one who has saved the babies and the mothers is equally successful with the man who comes Home. Every man is on honor. The farm and household duties, the care of the beautiful grounds give enough exercise to occupy the time though there is no particular task. Each one is interested in his Home. After the day is over there is the large library, music, games, etc. As the days go by, the man broken down by long imprisonment improves in body and mind. The living in God's sunshine helps body and soul. The terrible nervousness gives place to confidence, the prison pallor goes gradually, the good that has been sown brings forth fruit, the door is shut upon the past--tided over at the critical point--our comrade, ruddy in health and strong in spirit, is placed in a position. His past is known to one man--his employer. How different from all past attempts! No one can throw him down so long as he does well. The one who hires him will defend him and the Little Mother is his friend, and his comrades cheer him on.

"The story I've told is the same one three thousand made-over men can tell to-day. The V. P. L. has long since left the realms of theory for the stronghold of facts. The finest sermon preached in a man's life, the touchstone of our League is this, 'If a man is right, he will do right.'"

I must not forget the life-men in prison. If it were only for them, it would be well worth while to have our League established, that on their horizon otherwise so dark and gloomy, might be seen some breaking of the dawn that shall bring to them a brighter, sweeter life, when the full penalty has been paid and they pass into a world where the sweetest and fullest of liberty shall be theirs.

One of these life-men writes as follows:--"Dear Little Mother:--Nobody knows better than I do myself what the League has done for me and the men here. I have been in prison over twenty years, and know what I am talking about. Without it prison would be much like what it was before. I hope that with all the disappointments you are bound to meet with, you will continue to believe that there are hundreds of men in our great prisons who are in earnest. Most respectfully yours, No. 19595."

The following is written by one of our graduates who was for some years a member of the V. P. L. He did not himself need the shelter of Hope Hall, but he knew well what the Home was to those who were homeless. He is now a successful business man, has a happy home of his own and is a leader in the church to which he belongs, being the superintendent of the Sunday-school and much interested in all the active work of that little community.

"Dear Little Mother:--Word has reached me that you are completing a book telling the glorious story of the Volunteer Prison League and I am led to write you this expression of my joy that there is thus to be given to the world, something of the truth which you so well know of the real heart of the prisoner-man. Not only this, but after the passage of more than three years since I left prison, I want to bear this renewed testimony to you of the penetrating, permeating and abiding power of our loved League, to give and to hold hope and faith in the souls of disheartened, sinful, but contrite men.

"No good which has come to me in these prospering days of freedom, and no gladness which still unlived years may have in store for me, can ever dim in my grateful heart, the memory of what this League has done for me, and what I have seen it do for others in leading us out of despondency, imbuing us with courage, giving us strength to stand erect and in guiding us back to Christ and to God.

"Only those who have been face to face with the conditions of prison life, who know its revolting influences, who have daily breathed its debasing atmosphere, who have felt its contaminating touch, to whom has come the ever deepening sense of social degradation and of the repellent stigma placed indelibly upon them by their prison term can realize what the League means. They whose quickened consciences have scourged them unto the wish and the will to retrieve the sinful past, only to be hurled back into deeper disheartenment and desperation by the popular prejudice which questions their ability and almost denies them the rights to restoration, can fully appreciate the moral uplifting and incentive which this League gives. No words can express the tortures of the first awful days in prison. The isolation, the remorse, the heart-hardening power of stern discipline which regulates diet and toil, waking and sleeping and which sharply limits free-will and free-act; the dread consciousness that you are henceforth to be classed among social outcasts and forever mistrusted and distrusted are all part of an unspeakable whole. The association with the multitude of like conditioned men whose lengthened terms of confinement, and whose repeated convictions perhaps have given them a fixed sense of indifference to what happens to themselves and what they bring to pass upon others, and from whose forbidding experience you learn the awful truth of the fate which confronts you as a convicted man, and from which they insist there is no sure escape, however sincere and earnest the purpose and the striving, soon makes most prisoners hopeless, and many of them heartless. Is it any wonder?

"Such was the atmosphere and such the invariable impression and effect of prison life when I was justly condemned and confined. I found men all about me longing for a fair new chance to live aright, but impregnated with the doctrine that there was now no hope for them to do so. There were men of all types and all classes of social condition. Men serving their first term and others serving their second, third--or fourth--who in the confidence and candor of our mutual misery and degradation often told me (for we do communicate readily in prison, you know) that their supreme desire was for a return to decent citizenship, that they wanted to be 'straight' but that there was no chance for them to be so for _no one would trust them_.

"I was amazed to find among the most 'hardened' of my fellow-prisoners this controlling soul-thirst for confidence, for faith, and for trust. There was practically no rebellion against physical features of imprisonment and of prison discipline, there was no protest against the severity of the material pains and penalties of our punishment, but we yearned mightily for unselfish brotherly love and treasured to a degree unknown to those to whom it has never been denied, such fractions thereof as we received from each other. What was needed and all that was needed to give us the true impetus, the sufficient incentive, the conquering power to adjust ourselves anew and to set our lives in the right way for future freedom, was some agency which by stimulating unselfish love among ourselves and showing us that we were likewise loved by Christly men and women outside the prison walls, should inspire us to then and there have faith in God, to then and there have faith in our fellow-men and to then and there live loyally to the truth and the law.

"This agency came to us in the organization of this League in our prisons. Adherence to its principles quickened us to newness of life, gave us confidence in ourselves and others and taught us definitely and unequivocally that it is that which is wrought within a man, and not that which is wrought upon a man, that makes a man, and determines what he is, irrespective of where he is. When he had learned that truth we were all right. From that hour the fact of our conviction lost its sovereign sway, our imprisonment was seen to be a new beginning and not the final ending of our social careers and the future glowed brightly for us with hopes sure to be realized if only we remained steadfast.

"And we are remaining steadfast, Little Mother, hundreds of us, and by God's grace we will hold true to the end, and it is because this League has so thoroughly imbedded its truths in our hearts and is thereby daily shaping our lives, that so many of us are conquering in prison and out of prison and that we so revere you and love it.

"The crowning factor in the work of the League beyond prison walls, and the one feature which fulfills its promise of continuing love and health until each discharged man is so conditioned that he needs such help no longer, is Hope Hall. I did not have occasion to go there except as a guest on Anniversary Day, but I tell you what I know of its value to those who have no place else to go except the street, the den and the dive.

"The average man in stripes, when he is freed of the law, has no spot he can feel or know as his home. There is no available resting-place where he can abide with cordial welcome and with provision made for his every need during the weeks or months when he is regathering his physical and mental powers, more or less shattered by his years in confinement and sorrow, and until he finds the steady employment that will give him the means of self-support.

"To such men this haven afforded by Hope Hall is a veritable salvation for body and soul. Scores have shown me how their repeated convictions were brought about by the fact that they were homeless and friendless, except for evil associates, and in dire need after their former imprisonment and they cursed conditions that made them convicts again and again.

"I have seen these same men, awakened to the truth that Hope Hall was theirs and for them and them alone, shed tears of appreciation as they spoke of their finding shelter when they were again free and thus avoiding the possibility of a return to evil ways. I have seen some of these men, who later graduated from this home into useful lives, wholly redeemed by its final service to them, without which the previous work in their souls would have been wasted.

"There is no power quite so strong upon the human heart as that which centres about one's home and it is because these otherwise homeless men have come to look upon it and to call our Hope Hall their home and who love it accordingly, that they there find the calm, the comforting and the safety they require to make them wholly sound in body and soul and they can afterwards go into other homes they themselves establish strong to endure and overcome.

"God bless you and our League and make you both the means and the power unto salvation of thousands more of the men among whom I am now forever numbered, until the whole world shall recognize the regnant truth that men in stripes are also the loved children of God, and are both subdued and energized by the same Divine power which moves upon the souls of other men and with like results."

The next opinion is from a talented and educated man, who has thoughtfully and dispassionately written of what he has seen during the past six years as an inmate of the prison where our League started.

"In making an estimate of the influence and value of the Volunteer Prison League in prison, based upon favorable opportunities for observation, I should say that its appeal at first was in its promise of material aid, and its spiritual influences came after. When Mrs. Booth came to Sing Sing, the men were unprepared for the ringing message that she brought them and for her promises of substantial aid. At first, they didn't believe it. It was too good to be true, and she might have prayed and preached to them till Doomsday, without securing anything more than passing attention, had she not coupled her plea for spiritual reform with an offer of help of the most practical kind. Their interest was aroused and when these offers took real form and man after man went to Hope Hall, got help and employment, she gained admission to their hearts and confidence and the field was ready for the spiritual effort which has, I believe, been successfully made.

"These results are not altogether based upon gratitude, nor are they merely emotional, but in many cases they are real and permanent. There are scores of prisoners in Sing Sing who are making sincere efforts to lead pure, Christian lives and who are supported in their aspirations by the work of the League. These men are the most hopeful subjects of permanent reform, but there are also many others who are moved by the influences of the League, attracted by the decencies and respectability that it offers and by its material support, who are also genuinely in earnest and furnish many cases of the restoration of hitherto hopeless men returning to society as useful members. The spiritual influence is not so active with them, but they acknowledge that such influences do exist and their attitude is respectful to them, whereas before the establishment of the League they were contemptuous and scornful. This is hopeful material to work upon, and from it Mrs. Booth will undoubtedly gather a large number of complete converts.

"It is a fact that in the past the men were not only apathetic and indifferent to religious teachings, but they entertained a positive aversion to them. That is largely changed. It is still true with a considerable number, but even with them the truculence has passed away and the attitude of the whole community is at least respectful and with a majority, appreciative of the League's work. I saw both conditions during my six years' imprisonment and the change is marked in a hundred ways. When the League button was first worn by a few men, they were the subjects of open scorn by their fellow-prisoners. Now the button is worn by a large majority of the prisoners with pride, and no one of those who do not wear it ever thinks of making a slurring or adverse comment upon them. At first, it was frequently said, in that free spirit of criticism that prevails among prisoners, 'Oh, yes, Mrs. Booth is in it for what it will bring, like the rest.' Now it would be dangerous for a man to make such a remark openly. He would be called to prompt account for his insulting speech. In fact, such things are not said any more.

"The members of the League, on joining, make a promise to abstain from obscene language and profanity. The effect of this principle in the constitution of the League is perhaps more apparent than any other. Oaths are less frequently heard and vile speech is far less common. It has become bad form to swear, and clean conversation is supplanting the ribald talk that prevailed among the men before the League's influence manifested itself.

"The verdict of the prisoners upon the work of the League is unanimous that it is the only real and practical scheme of help that has ever been extended to them. There is no varying opinion about its effectiveness. They recognize its value. It has opened the way for hundreds of wretched men who turned from the contemplation of their future with despair, but who now regard it with hope. The stories that come back from Hope Hall, and from the many men who have secured employment and who are leading clean and useful lives, have passed from lip to lip, and every one gives new encouragement and supports new resolutions of reform.

"Mrs. Booth's and Mrs. McAlpin's friendship has had another influence upon the prisons, an indirect one it is true, but one of great significance for the prisoner. It is useless to deny that the discipline of prisons has been marked at times by cruelty and tyranny. Such conditions are responding to a progressive spirit, and a factor in that movement is the fact that these victims of the old abuses are no longer friendless. They are able to make a complaint, and they understand that their welfare will be guarded by those capable of protecting it. The work on these lines is subjective but potent. Similarly, the discipline has been helped by the organization. The officials recognize that fact. Men are more biddable, officers, less arrogant. The prisoner and keeper have become more considerate of each other. There has been a vast change and improvement in every way. The prisoner, having found a real incentive, is seeking to lift himself up, and as he shows himself worthy of aid by those entrusted with the control of his actions, they are encouraged to help him. How far these good influences may extend, I am unable to say. It may be that they will even reach a solution of the problems presented by crime, but if they do not go so far, they are working with the cordial, grateful, earnest coöperation of the prisoners themselves, without which all efforts would be vain."

IX

LIFE STORIES

How strong and vivid an impression some pictures can make upon the mind, photographed there in colors so striking or so appealing to the soul, that all through life they come back to memory again and again as clear and sharp in every detail as the day we first gazed upon them! Perhaps it was the wondrous work of some master hand that stood out for us as the one picture in a gallery of treasures. It may have been a face that gazed at us from the shadowy corner of an old cathedral through which the very thought and soul of the painter met our own, and left with us the meaning that he strove to teach through form and color. That which lives the longest may perchance be a crude picture that hung on the nursery wall, weaving itself into our childish life, and wearing for us a different aspect when we were good or naughty. The firelight played mysteriously about it as we dozed off to sleep, and then perhaps it took life and mingled with our childish dreams. If we are lovers of nature, the brightest, most living pictures in memory's gallery may have come to us amid the whisper of leaves and the play of sunbeams. Some little glade where the shadows wavered on ferns and moss, or the tiny streamlet whose pearly waters caught the sunbeams and glittered like gems amid the lace work of the leaves. The photograph was taken by the eye and brain long years ago, but we have seen the picture again and again. When the earth has been hard and cold in the icy grip of winter, as we have travelled over the thirsty desert, or when counting the weary hours in the dark room where fever held us, it has come back so clearly that we have almost heard the laughter of the water and the rustle of the leaves. I wish instead of trying to paint with words, I could use the pencil and brush of a master hand to show a picture that made just such an impression on my mind, and that, if seen by others, would bring to them without words the thought, the truth of which no argument could gainsay.

It was a brilliant May morning, such a day as sets the birds singing and drapes the apple-trees with masses of pink and white. The sky was a vivid blue and great piles of cotton-wool cloud floated leisurely across the distance as if to show up the tender reds and greens of the foliage. The glory of the day without made the contrast greater as I stepped within the walls of one of our oldest and gloomiest state prisons. As the great iron door shut behind me, gone were the sunshine, the breezes, the gladness and song of the spring, for sorrow and sighs seemed to lurk in the dark corners. A few minutes later, I found myself on the chapel platform, looking down on an audience garbed in the dreary striped uniform that was in itself enough to add gloom to the sombreness of prison walls and high barred windows. The room was so built that not much of the brightness of out-of-doors penetrated it and the contrast between the country through which I had passed, and this sunless place was very striking. As the opening exercises proceeded, I studied my audience. An audience means much to the speaker, and especially is this true of one in State Prison. There were some whom I had known for several years and the smile of recognition meant much to them; others had come since my last visit, and I needed to know them that I might learn to reach their hearts with the message. Of these newcomers, some were mere boys whose heads were bowed in shame; others showed a bitter and defiant front and appeared to be flinging out a challenge to any who might dare approach the portal of their imprisoned soul.

It was while engaged in this study of faces that I saw the picture of which I would speak. In the roof of the chapel was a small sky-light, and through it the sun sent down one bright clear shaft of yellow glory. It shone on one man, making his face and figure stand out distinctly amid the gloom that surrounded him. Looking at the face, I saw at once that his was the type the criminologists would pick out as a hardened offender. There was the stern jaw, the deep-set dark eyes, on his face the lines that rough life had given and the prison pallor that told of long years within the walls, made all the more noticeable by the mass of black hair that fell low on his brow. There was much of past suffering to be read in that face, but now utterly forgetful of his surroundings, he had thrown his head back and was looking straight up into the glory of the sunshine. The mouth that might have been stern and cynical was smiling, and as I looked the dark eyes were softened with a mist of tears, and then as they overflowed, the sunlight shone and glistened upon them as they coursed their way down his face. These were the words he was singing, and the whole expression of that face told that they came not from the lips alone, but from a heart that knew that of which it sang: