Chapter XXVI: Selections from My Scrap Book (2)

God would not send you the darkness
If He felt you could bear the light,
But you would not cling to His guiding hand
If the way were always bright;
And you would not care to walk by faith
Could you always walk by sight.

'Tis true He has many an anguish
For your sorrowing heart to bear,
And many a cruel thorn-crown
For your tired head to wear;
He knows how few would reach home at all
If pain did not guide them there.

If He sends you in blinding darkness,
And the furnace of seven-fold heat;
'Tis the only way, believe me,
To keep you close to His feet;
For 'tis always so easy to wander
When our lives are glad and sweet.

Then nestle your hand in our Father's
And sing if you can as you go;
Your song may cheer some one behind you
Whose courage is sinking low;
And, well if your lips do quiver,
God will love you better so.

--_Selected._

A TRUE HERO.

Two men were sinking a shaft. It was dangerous business, for it was necessary to blast the rock. It was their custom to cut the fuse with a sharp knife. One man then entered the bucket and made a signal to be hauled up. When the bucket again descended, the other man entered it, and with one hand on the signal rope and the other holding the fire, he touched the fuse, made the signal, and was rapidly drawn up before the explosion took place.

One day they left the knife above, and rather than ascend to procure it, they cut the fuse with a sharp stone. It took fire. "The fuse is on fire!" Both men leaped into the bucket, and made the signal; but the windlass would haul up but one man at a time; only one could escape. One of the men instantly leaped out, and said to the other, "Up wi' ye; I'll be in heaven in a minute." With lightning speed the bucket was drawn up, and the one man was saved. The explosion took place. Men descended, expecting to find the mangled body of the other miner; but the blast had loosened a mass of rock, and it lay diagonally across him; and, with the exception of a few bruises and a little scorching, he was unhurt. When asked why he urged his comrade to escape, he gave a reason that sceptics would laugh at. If there is any being on the face of the earth I pity, it is a sceptic. I would not be called "a sceptic," today for all this world's wealth. They may call it superstition or fanaticism, or whatever they choose. But what did this hero say when asked, "Why did you insist on this other man's ascending?" In his quaint dialect, he replied, "Because I knowed my soul was safe; for I've give it in the hands of Him of whom it is said, that 'faithfulness is the girdle of his reins,' and I knowed that what I gied Him He'd never gie up. But t'other chap was an awful wicked lad, and I wanted to gie him another chance." All the infidelity in the world cannot produce such a signal act of heroism as that.--_Selected._

THE "KID."

It was not a long procession or a pleasing one but it attracted much attention.

There was a policeman in the lead. Beside him walked a stockey, bullnecked young fellow in a yellowish suit of loud plaid. His face was bloody and his right wrist encircled by the bracelet of the "twisters" which shackled him to his captor. The face of the policeman was also bloody and his clothes were torn. Behind these two walked three other patrolmen, each with a handcuffed prisoner.

The "kid" and his "gang" had been caught in the act of robbing a saloon, and the fight had been lively, although short. The prisoners had been taken to the detectives' office, and photographed and registered for the rogues' gallery. They were now on their way to court, and thence, in all probability, to jail.

At Broadway there was a jam of cars and heavy trucks, and the procession had to wait. Nobody has been able to tell just what happened, but they all agree as to the essential points. First the bystanders saw a streak of yellow, which was the kid; then a streak of blue which was the policeman. The prisoner had wrenched the twisters from his captors' hand, and made a dash across the tracks. The policeman, thinking, of course that he was trying to escape, had followed.

Then everybody saw a little child toddling along in the middle of the track. A cable-car, with clanging bell, was bearing down upon it with a speed which the gripman seemed powerless to check. The baby held up its hands, and laughed at the sound of the gong. On the other side of the street a woman was screaming and struggling in the arms of three or four men who were trying to keep her from sacrificing her own life to save that of her child.

Then the kid stood there with the child safe in his arms, the steel twisters hanging from his wrist. He set the baby down gently at his feet, loosened the clasp of the chubby hand on his big red fist, and quietly held out his wrist to the policeman to be handcuffed again. He had one chance in a million for his life when he made that desperate leap, but he had not hesitated the fraction of a second.

CHARGED WITH MURDER.

"Prisoner at the bar, have you anything to say why sentence of death should not be passed upon you?"

A solemn hush fell over the crowded court-room, and every person waited in almost breathless expectation for the answer to the judge's question.

"I have, your honor! I stand here convicted of the murder of my wife. Witnesses have testified that I was a loafer, a drunkard and a wretch; that I returned from one of my debauches and fired the shot that killed the wife I had sworn to love, cherish and protect. While I have no remembrance of committing the awful deed, I have no right to condemn the verdict of the jury, for their verdict is in accordance with the evidence.

"But, may it please the court, I wish to show that I am not alone responsible for the murder of my wife! The judge on this bench, the jury in the box, the lawyers within this bar and most of the witnesses, including the pastor of the church, are also guilty before God and will have to stand with me before His judgment throne, where we shall all be righteously judged.

"If it had not been for the saloons of my town, I never would have become a drunkard; my wife would not have been murdered; I would not be here now, soon to be hurled into eternity.

"For one year our town was without a saloon. For one year I was a sober man. For one year my wife and children were happy and our little home was a paradise.

"I was one of those who signed remonstrances against re-opening the saloons of our town. One-half of this jury, the prosecuting attorney on this case, and the judge who sits on this bench, all voted for the saloons. By their votes and influence the saloons were opened, and they have made me what I am.

"Think you that the Great Judge will hold me--the poor, weak, helpless victim--alone responsible for the murder of my wife? Nay; I, in my drunken, frenzied, irresponsible condition have murdered one; but you have deliberately voted for the saloons which have murdered thousands, and they are in full operation today with your consent. You legalized the saloons that made me a drunkard and a murderer, and you are guilty with me before God and man for the murder of my wife.

"I will close by solemnly asking God to open your blind eyes to your own individual responsibility, so that you will cease to give your support to this hell-born traffic."--_Sel._

MOTHER'S FACE.

There's a feeling comes across me--
Comes across me often now--
And it deepest seems when trouble
Lays her finger on my brow;
O it is a deep, deep feeling,
Neither happiness nor pain!
'Tis a mighty, soulful longing
To see mother's face again!

'Tis, I think, a natural feeling;
Worst of me, I can't control
Myself no more! It seems to stir
And thrill my very soul!
Try to laugh it off--but useless!
Oh! my tears will fall like rain
When I get this soulful longing
Just to see her face again!

You won't know how much you love her
(Your old mother) till you roam
'Way off where her voice can't reach you,
And with strangers make your home;
Then you'll know how big your heart is,
Think you never loved before,
When you get this mighty longing
Just to see her face once more.

Mother! tender, loving soul!
Heaven bless her dear old face!
I'd give half my years remaining
Just to give her one embrace;
Or to shower love-warm kisses
On her lips, and cheeks, and brow,
And appease this mighty longing
That I get so often now!

--_Sel._

ONLY SIXTEEN.

Only sixteen, so the papers say,
Yet there on the cold, stony ground he lay;
'Tis the same sad story we hear every day.
He came to his death in the public highway.
Full of promise, talent and pride,
Yet the rum fiend conquered him--so he died.
Did not the angels weep o'er the scene?
For he died a drunkard and only sixteen.
Only sixteen.

Oh! it were sad he must die all alone,
That of all his friends, not even one
Was there to list to his last faint moan,
Or point the suffering soul to the throne
Of grace. If, perchance, God's only Son
Would say, "Whosoever will may come."--
But we hasten to draw a veil over the scene,
With his God we leave him--only sixteen.
Only sixteen.

Rumseller, come view the work you have wrought!
Witness the suffering and pain you have brought
To the poor boy's friends; they loved him well,
And yet you dared the vile beverage to sell
That beclouded his brain, his reason dethroned,
And left him to die out there all alone.
What if 't were your son instead of another?
What if your wife were that poor boy's mother?
And he only sixteen.

Ye freeholders who signed the petition to grant
The license to sell, do you think you will want
That record to meet in the last great day
When heaven and earth shall have passed away,
When the elements melting with fervent heat
Shall proclaim the triumph of right complete?
Will you wish to have his blood on your hands
When before the great throne you each shall stand?
And he only sixteen.

Christian men! rouse ye to stand for the right,
To action and duty; into the light.
Come with your banners inscribed: "Death to rum."
Let your conscience speak, listen, then come;
Strike killing blows; hew to the line;
Make it a felony even to sign
A petition to license; you would do it I ween
If that were your son and he only sixteen,
Only sixteen.

THE DRESS QUESTION.

One day, at Louisville, riding with Mrs. Wheaton to visit the sick prisoners, she said, "Do you think it your duty to rebuke Christians who wear jewelry?" I saw her question was a kindly reproof to me, and said, "If the Lord wants me to give up the jewelry I have, He will show me." "Yes, He will," she answered; "for I am praying for you." The next morning the friend who was entertaining me told me her little eleven-year-old daughter, Emma, just converted, said, "Mamma, I wish you would read to me in the Bible where it says not to wear jewelry." The mother read the verses. Then the child said, "Mamma, if the Lord does not want me to wear jewelry, I don't want to;" and she brought her little pin and ring to her mother. I took my Bible and read, "Whose adorning, let it not be that outward adorning of plaiting the hair and of wearing of gold, or of putting on of apparel; but let it be the hidden man of the heart, in that which is not corruptible, even the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is in the sight of God of great price" (1 Peter ii, 3, 4); and, "In like manner also, that women adorn themselves in modest apparel, with shamefacedness and sobriety, not with braided hair or gold or pearls or costly array, but (which becometh women professing godliness) with good works." (1 Tim. ii, 9, 10.) Then I thought: "The child is right. The Bible means just what it says." Then I recalled that Mrs. Wheaton had told me how she went one day to visit a poor, sick girl, to whom she had talked of the love of Christ until she was almost won. She went again with a wealthy woman, who was decked with diamonds. As they entered the room, the girl pointed to the jewels, and said: "O mother, mother! I have wanted them all my life!" The rich woman tried to hide her diamonds, and Mrs. Wheaton tried to turn the girl's attention again to the Savior, but in vain. Her last thought was of the diamonds, and her last words, "I have wanted them all my life!"

Sitting there, with this incident fresh in my mind, I quietly slipped off ring, watch, chain, cuff-buttons, and collar-stud; and gold, as an adornment, was put away forever.--_Abbie C. Morrow, in Revival Advocate, March 7, 1901._

SONGS USED IN MY WORK.

ROCK ME TO SLEEP, MOTHER.

"Backward, turn backward, oh time in your flight,
Make me a child again just for tonight.
Mother, come back from that echoless shore,
Take me again to your arms as of yore;
Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care,
Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair;
Over my slumbers your loving watch keep,
Rock me to sleep, mother, rock me to sleep."

LIFE'S RAILWAY TO HEAVEN.

Life is like a mountain railroad,
With an engineer that's brave;
We must make the run successful,
From the cradle to the grave;
Watch the curves, the fills, the tunnels;
Never falter, never quail;
Keep your hand upon the throttle,
And your eye upon the rail.

CHORUS:

Blessed Savior, Thou wilt guide us
Till we reach that blissful shore;
Where the angels wait to join us
In Thy praise forevermore.

You will roll up grades of trials;
You will cross the bridge of strife;
See that Christ is your conductor
On this lightning train of life;
Always mindful of obstructions;
Do your duty, never fail;
Keep your hand upon the throttle,
And your eye upon the rail.

You will often find obstructions;
Look for storms of wind and rain;
On a fill, or curve, or trestle,
They will almost ditch your train;
Put your trust alone in Jesus;
Never falter, never fail;
Keep your hand upon the throttle,
And your eye upon the rail.

As you roll across the trestle,
Spanning Jordan's swelling tide,
You behold the Union Depot
Into which your train will glide;
There you'll meet the Superintendent,
God the Father, God the Son
With the hearty, joyous plaudit,
Weary pilgrim, welcome home.

_By permission of Charlie D Tillman, owner of copyright._

MEET ME THERE.

1. On the happy golden shore,
Where the faithful part no more,
When the storms of life are o'er,
Meet me there.
Where the night dissolves away,
Into pure and perfect day,
I am going home to stay,
Meet me there.

CHORUS:

Meet me there,
Meet me there,
Where the tree of life is blooming
Meet me there.
When the storms of life are o'er,
On the happy golden shore,
Where the faithful part no more,
Meet me there.

2. Here our fondest hopes are vain,
Dearest links are rent in twain,
But in heav'n no throbs of pain,
Meet me there.
By the river sparkling bright,
In the city of delight
Where our faith is lost in sight,
Meet me there.

3. Where the harps of angels ring,
And the blest forever sing,
In the palace of the king,
Meet me there.
Where in sweet communion blend,
Heart with heart and friend with friend;
In a world that ne'er shall end,
Meet me there.

_Words and music copyrighted by W. J. Kirkpatrick, Philadelphia._

GOD BLESS MY BOY

1. When shining stars their vigils keep,
And all the world is hushed in sleep,
'Tis then I breathe this pray'r so deep--
God bless my boy tonight.

CHORUS:

God bless my boy, my wandering boy,
And keep his honor bright;
May he come home--no longer roam--
God save my boy tonight.

2. I know not where his head may lie,
Perchance beneath the open sky;
But this I ween, God's watchful eye
Can see my boy tonight.

3. As pass the days, the months and years,
With all the change, the hopes and fears,
God make each step of duty clear,
And keep his honor bright.

4. And when at last his work is o'er,
And earthly toil shall be no more,
May angels guide him to the shore
Where there shall be no night.

THE GREAT JUDGMENT MORNING.

Tune--"Kathleen Mavourneen."

One cold Winter eve when the snow was fast falling
In a small, humble cottage a poor mother laid;
Although racked with pain she lay there contented
With Christ as her Friend and her peace with Him made.

CHORUS:

We shall all meet again on the great judgment morning,
The books will be opened, the roll will be called;
How sad it will be if forever we're parted,
And shut out of heaven for not loving God!

That mother of yours has gone over death's river.
You promised you'd meet her as you knelt by her bed,
While the death sweat rolled from her and fell on the pillow;
Her memory still speaketh, although she is dead.

You remember the kiss and the last words she uttered,
The arms that embraced you are mouldering away;
As you stood by her grave and dropped tears on her coffin,
With a vow that you'd meet her, you walked slowly away.

My brother, my sister, get ready to meet her,
The life that you now live is ebbing away,
But the life that's to come lasts forever and ever,
May we meet ne'er to part on that great judgment day!

MY NAME IN MOTHER'S PRAYER.

'Twas in the days of careless youth
When life seemed fair and bright,
When ne'er a tear, nor scarce a fear
O'er cast my day or night.
'Twas in the quiet even tide,
I passed her kneeling there,
When just one word I tho't I heard
My name, my name in mother's prayer.

CHORUS.

My name, my name in mother's prayer,
My name in mother's prayer!
There is just one word I tho't I heard
My name, my name in mother's prayer.

I wandered on, but heeded not
God's oft repeated call,
To turn from sin and live for Him,
And trust to Him my all in all.
But when at last convinced of sin,
I sank in deep despair,
My soul awoke when memory spoke
My name, my name in mother's prayer.

That kneeling form, those folded hands,
Have vanished in the dust;
But still for me for years shall be
The memory of her trust.
And when I cross dark Jordan's tide,
I'll meet her over there;
I'll praise the Lord, and bless the word,
That word, my name in mother's prayer!

OVER THERE.

Come all ye scattered race,
And the Savior's love embrace;
You may see His smiling face
Yet with care;
He is on the giving hand,
Will you come at His command,
Will you with the angels stand
Over there?

CHORUS.

Over there, over there,
There's a land of pure delight
Over there,
We will lay our burdens down,
And at Jesus' feet sit down,
And we'll wear a starry crown,
Over there.

Yes, He went to Calvary,
And they nailed Him to the tree,
That poor sinners such as we,
He might spare;
From the bitter pangs of death,
He does with His dying breath,
Seal an everlasting rest,
Over there.

God has placed us on the field,
To the foe we will not yield,
On our tower we will stand,
By His care.
Wave the Christian's banner high,
Hold it up until we die,
And go home to live with God,
Over there.

THIS WAY.

Our life is like a stormy sea,
Swept by the gales of sin and grief,
While on the windward and the lee,
Hangs heavy clouds of unbelief;
Out o'er the deep a call we hear,
Like harbor bell's inviting voice;
It tells the lost that hope is near,
And bids the trembling soul rejoice.

CHORUS.

This way, this way, O heart oppressed,
So long by storm and tempest driven,
This way, this way, lo here is rest,
Rings out the harbor bell of heaven.

O tempted one, look up, be strong;
The promise of the Lord is sure,
That they shall sing the victor's song,
Who faithful to the end endure;
God's Holy Spirit comes to thee,
Of this abiding love to tell;
To blissful port, o'er stormy sea,
Calls heaven's inviting harbor bell.

MORE TO BE PITIED THAN CENSURED.

There's an old concert hall on the bowery
Where were assembled together one night
A crowd of young fellows carousing,
To them life looked happy and bright.
At the very next table was seated
A girl that had fallen to shame;
How the fellows they laughed at her downfall,
When they heard an old woman exclaim:

CHORUS.

"She's more to be pitied than censured,
She is more to be loved than despised;
She is only a poor girl who ventured
On life's rugged path ill-advised.
Don't scorn her with words fierce and bitter,
Don't laugh at her shame and downfall,
Just pause for a moment--consider,
That sin was the cause of it all."

There's an old-fashioned church 'round the corner,
Where the neighbors all gathered one day,
To listen to words from the parson,
For a soul that had just passed away.
'Twas the same wayward girl from the bowery,
Who a life of adventure had led;
Did the parson then laugh at her downfall?
No, he prayed and wept as he said:

SOME MOTHER'S CHILD.

At home or away, in the alley or street,
Wherever I chance in this wide world to meet
A girl that is thoughtless or a boy that is wild,
My heart echoes softly: It is some mother's child.

CHORUS.

Some mother's child,
Some mother's child,
My heart echoes softly:
It is some mother's child.

And when I see those o'er whom long years have rolled,
Whose hearts have grown hardened, whose spirits are cold;
Be it woman all fallen, or man all defiled,
A voice whispers sadly: It is some mother's child.

No matter how far from right she hath strayed;
No matter what inroad dishonor hath made;
No matter what elements cankered the pearl;
Though tarnished and sullied, she is some mother's girl.

No matter how deep he is sunken in sin;
No matter how much he is shunned by his kin;
No matter how low is his standard of joy;
Though guilty and loathsome; he is some mother's boy.

That head hath been pillowed on tenderest breast;
That form hath been wept o'er, those lips have been pressed;
That soul hath been prayed for in tones sweet and mild;
For her sake deal gently with some mother's child.

_Used by permission of Charlie D. Tillman, owner of copyright._

JUST TELL MY MOTHER.

'Twas in a Gospel Mission, in a distant western town,
The meeting there that night had just begun,
When in came a poor lost sinner who by sin had been cast down,
Thinking perhaps that he might have some fun;
But as he heard of Jesus' love, of pardon full and free,
He sought it and the wanderer ceased to roam.
And going to his room that night, his heart all filled with joy,
He wrote a letter to the folks at home.

CHORUS.

Just tell my dear old mother, my wandering days are o'er,
Just tell her that my sins are all forgiven,
Just tell her that if on earth we chance to meet no more,
Her prayers are answered and we'll meet in Heaven.

His mother got the message as she lay at death's dark door,
Which told her of her boy so far away,
How his sins were all forgiven and wandering days were o'er,
And that his feet were on the narrow way.
Her heart was filled with gladness, as it had not been for years,
Her dear old face was all lit up with joy,
As on her dying pillow she said amid her tears,
God bless and keep my precious darling boy.

Your mothers have prayed for you, my friends, for many and many a day,
Perhaps these days of life will soon be o'er,
Come, give your hearts to Jesus, get on the narrow way,
And meet her on that happy golden shore.
Oh, come just now while still there's room, and pardon free for all.
The Savior pleads, oh, do not longer roam.
And then with Jesus in your heart, you will send the message
To your dear mother, praying still for you at home.

SOON THE DEATH-BELL WILL TOLL.

When the last Gospel message has been told in your ears,
And the last solemn warning has been given you in tears;
When hope shall escape from its place in your breast,
Oh, where will your poor weary soul find its rest?

CHORUS.

Soon the death-bell will toll--look after your soul;
O, sinner be ready, for the death-bell will toll.

When the darkness of death shall compass you round,
When the friends you have loved are all standing around;
Unable to save you now from the tomb,
Unable to alter your terrible doom.

When before the white throne of His Judgment you stand,
"What have you to answer?" the Judge will demand;
Oh, terrible moment to be standing alone,
When mercy forever and forever is gone.

THE END OF THE WAY.

The following beautiful lines were written by a girl in Nova Scotia, an invalid for many years:

My life is a wearisome journey;
I'm sick of the dust and the heat;
The rays of the sun beat upon me,
The briars are wounding my feet.
But the city to which I am journeying
Will more than my trials repay;
All the toils of the road will seem nothing
When I get to the end of the way.

There are so many hills to climb upward,
I often am longing for rest,
But He who appoints me the pathway
Knows what is needed and best.
I know in His word He has promised
That my strength shall be as my day;
And the toils of the road will seem nothing
When I get to the end of the way.

He loves me too well to forsake me,
Or give me one trial too much;
All His people have been dearly purchased,
And Satan can never claim such.
By and by I shall see Him and praise Him,
In the city of unending day;
And the toils of the road will seem nothing
When I get to the end of the way.

When the last feeble steps have been taken,
And the gates of the city appear,
And the beautiful songs of the angels
Float out on my listening ear;
When all that now seems so mysterious
Will be plain and clear as the day--
Yes, the toils of the road will seem nothing
When I get to the end of the way.

Though now I am footsore and weary,
I shall rest when I'm safely at home;
I know I'll receive a glad welcome,
For the Savior Himself has said "Come."
So, when I am weary in body,
And sinking in spirit I say,
All the toils of the road will seem nothing
When I get to the end of the way.

Cooling fountains are there for the thirsty,
There are cordials for those who are faint:
There are robes that are whiter and purer
Than any that fancy can paint.
Then I'll try to press hopefully onward,
Thinking often through each weary day,
The toils of the road will seem nothing
When I get to the end of the way.

Appendix.

The matter which I have here appended I thought of too much value to omit from this volume. The first article is explanatory in itself. The second is by a prisoner whom I have known for many years. The third (regarding Christ in Gethsemane) was written by a prisoner as a letter to myself. I hope the reader may profit by the reading of each page.

E. R. W.

THE PERSONNEL OF PRISON MANAGEMENT.

Address of C. E. Haddox, warden of the West Virginia
penitentiary, to the National Prison Association, at its annual
session, Louisville, Ky., Congress of 1903:

This is the age of industrial development. On every side we see colossal enterprises undertaken and prosecuted to a successful and profitable conclusion.

Great railroad systems span the continent, carrying millions of passengers and countless tons of freight, with safety, celerity and dispatch, to the doors of factory, workshop, store and consumer.

Immense industrial enterprises are constantly being projected, consolidated and carried on in a manner to excite the admiration, mayhap, the wonder and fear of mankind.

Colossal financial transactions amaze the minds of those uninitiated to the magnitude and the intricacies of such undertakings.

The unexplored recesses of the earth are exploited in a manner and on a scale heretofore undreamed of and unknown, and every department of enterprise is carried on to a degree that distinctly stamps this decade as the acme of industrial enterprise and achievements, the golden age of industrial prosperity, and the acquirement of material improvement and material gain.

If it be asked why such strides have been made along industrial lines, the answer is that it is due to ORGANIZATION AND SPECIALIZATION.

The PERSONNEL of the management have devoted their lives, their talent and their energies to the special work before them. They have been drilled and educated along special lines; they have been deaf and blind to outside matters not relevant to the work in hand, and by close and careful study, by unceasing and constant labor, care and effort, having evolved, projected and carried on these immense enterprises.

The National Prison Congress at its meeting this year is mindful of the material progress of the country.

This association is equally ambitious along the lines peculiar to itself to obtain from the various penal institutions of the country the highest and best results morally, educationally, reformatively, and as an incident, punitively and financially.

How shall we keep pace in penal improvements with the great material progress of the outside world?

The answer necessarily must be, that improvements in our department of work must come, as they do elsewhere, by the investigation, the study, the thought and the effort of those who are in actual control, of those who are in a position to see, to observe and to know.

In other words, the question as to whether prisons are to improve, whether their work shall continue to be of a higher and nobler character, whether we are finally and forever to break away from the customs of the galleys of France, the prisons of Hawes in England, of the Mamertine of Rome and of Rothenburg in Germany, will depend utterly, entirely and absolutely upon the personnel of the prison management of the country.

Prof. Henderson, in his admirable address delivered at the Philadelphia meeting in 1902, on "The Social Position of the Prison Warden," says: "Some institutions have no marked qualities; they have walls, cells, machinery, prisoners, punishments, but no distinct, consistent and rational policy."

Where this is true it means that the worst possible condition of affairs exists. Such an institution has the dry rot. It is managed (or rather mismanaged) by time servers, too careless to feel the high responsibility devolving upon them, and too listless to acquaint themselves with the many opportunities spread before them to improve and keep pace with the onward march of progress.

Such officers in their abuse, by inaction, of the opportunities afforded them, commit "Crimes against criminals" and through them against society.

On the contrary institutions which have distinct features and characteristics, have them as the result of the careful investigation, the patient research and thought of those who are in responsible and actual control, and these characteristics and features reflect the wisdom and intelligence of those who have given their energies and their lives to the special work before them.

THE BOARD OF DIRECTORS.

In the management of penal institutions a Board of Directors or of Control is, ordinarily, the nominal head.

By the laws of most states they are supposed to fix the administration policy, to restrict and define the powers and duties of the officers in actual and intimate control.

In some institutions they meet a day or so each month, in most institutions not so frequently. Their duties while at the institution may or may not be largely perfunctory, and as they are generally active business men at home in other channels, the day or two a month or quarter is apt to be regarded by the unthoughtful as a respite or surcease from other duties. The main duty of a Board of Directors or of Control may be said to be the determining of the general policy upon which the institution shall be conducted, and a cursory oversight of the conduct of its affairs.

THE WARDEN.

The warden or superintendent is the one official who can give tone, expression and color to the institution. He is distinctly and positively its actual managing head, and upon his intelligence, interest, zeal, tact and discretion will depend, almost entirely, its weal or its woe.

He must be a man of intelligence, and be willing and anxious to increase his fund of knowledge and information.

He should be a profound student not only of the ordinary subjects that attract the student, but of prison systems, of laws, business, government, society as it exists, and of human nature in all its many phases.

HE MUST BE AN ORGANIZER.

No difference how elaborate a system may be found in any institution of this kind, the warden will always be an intensely busy and greatly occupied officer.

If he would prevent chaos and confusion and obtain from every official the highest and best work of which he is capable, he must organize every department thoroughly. Every officer and every inmate must know his exact duties, so far as it is possible to know them, and be made responsible for those duties and the warden must be enabled to appreciate a high order of talent and the accomplishment of good work, and to locate the blame for omissions and short comings, and provide for their correction.

Thorough system in every detail will conserve the capacities of all his subordinates and leave him in a measure free to observe the actual conditions and to plan and to put into effect improvements along moral, industrial, physical and financial lines.

HE MUST BE A FINANCIER.

The financial question in every prison in the land is an extremely important one. Funds for prisons are doled out grudgingly, and the demand for absolutely necessary purposes is always far greater than the supply.

A warden performs no more important function than when he sees that the funds of the institution are so used as to effect the highest possible results, and that all the forces of the prison are so energized and conserved as to permit, under ordinary conditions, a satisfactory and proper earning and economizing power. With the many demands made upon him for means for increasing the usefulness of his institution, a high order of financial aptitude is an absolutely necessary characteristic in a successful warden.

DISCIPLINE.

Discipline in a prison is its first requisite. Nothing can be accomplished until officers and convicts are under its sway and control.

The warden who would have control of those under him must himself at all times, be under self control.

The maxim "No one knows how to command who has not first learned how to obey," is a trite and a true one. The population of a prison is made up of a heterogeneous collection of people whose first instincts have been and are, not to obey.

To bring such people into habits of obedience and control requires the highest type of skill, tact and discretion. Punishments and reward must be so blended and combined as to effect the needful results with the least possible friction, and in the most humane and rational manner possible.

No warden can afford to delegate the matter of enforcing discipline entirely or partly, if at all, to another. His first duty to himself, that he may know actual conditions as they exist, is to preside over or assist in, the trial of offenders and to order discipline.

Individual treatment is a necessity in our dealings with delinquents, and a study of the many phases of delinquency is a prime requisite in a successful warden's repertoire.

Brainard F. Smith says: "Many a prisoner has been reformed--or, if not reformed, made a better prisoner--by punishment."

Will the warden have any higher duty to perform than to face his delinquent delinquents and to order in merciful severity, rational punishments for their short-comings?

But a warden's disciplinary powers are apt to be taxed more severely in another direction. The great problem ordinarily, is not so much the discipline of convicts as that of subordinate officers. If subordinate officers will obey the spirit and the letter of the rules, the convict has the potential influence of a powerful example to aid him. "Like master like man."

In institutions where officers are appointed solely with reference to their fitness, comparatively little trouble should be had in the matter of proper official discipline. But where places are given to heelers, ward-workers and political strikers, the matter of efficient discipline is a question of grave concern to the warden. In the absence of better material, however, he must address himself to organizing what he has to the highest efficiency possible, and insist and require a rigid regimen and adhere to his demands and requirements with Spartan firmness.

THE PRISON SCHOOL.

The educational work of a prison is of the highest, I may say, of the first importance. The education of the hands to work comes naturally, partly as an incident of the necessary work carried on in prison.

Nearly all convicts are densely ignorant. The polished, scholarly, shrewd criminal of whom we hear so much, and to whom the papers and books give so much prominence, is the exception, not the rule, in prison.

If the prison is to have a reformatory feature, it must come very largely through the school. Many prison schools are such only in name. The work accomplished is very meager. The results are very unsatisfactory.

To no part of prison work should a warden address himself with more ardor and determination than so to organize the prison school as to make it the great positive factor in dispelling ignorance and its attendant viciousness, and in quickening and enlivening the moral sense in those whose moral judgment is exceedingly obtuse.

The course of study in a prison school is necessarily a very elementary one, and unless followed by a supplementary course of reading and study, will be of little permanent and practical benefit. Many prison libraries, largely the result of indiscriminate and heterogeneous donations of all kinds of literature, good, bad and indifferent, chiefly the latter, are not in a position to be a positive force.

Let the warden see that his library is so arranged, classified and used as to be a source of information, profit, help and pleasure to the inmates, and that a course of reading along rational lines is laid out, encouraged, and, if possible, adhered to, in order that the preliminary school course may not have been in vain.

COURAGE NEEDED.

The warden must be a man of courage. I do not refer to the kind of courage necessary to face a regiment of depraved and wicked men shorn of their power and their stimulus to do evil, but that high moral courage necessary to clean the Augean stables of abuses of customs, to reverse policies of long standing that are nevertheless wrong in principle and in practice, to fight against unjust, improper and unwise legislative propositions concerning his institution; the kind of courage that prompted the chaplain in Chas. Reade's "NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND," to fight and destroy the iniquitous prison system of Keeper Hawes and his minions; the courage that will keep to the fore-front a persistent opposition to prostituting penitentiaries into eleemosynary institutions and political cribs and feeding troughs for political strikers.

He must have the courage to weed out and eliminate useless barnacles in the shape of incompetent and worthless employes, and substitute in their stead men of capacity, character and intelligence, who are in love with their work and believe in its dignity and usefulness; the courage to face demagogues in their efforts to take from the prison its educative, moral, reformatory and economic force, the right of the unfortunate inmates to learn the gospel of labor under right and just conditions.

OPTIMISM NECESSARY.

The warden needs to be intensely optimistic. He must have a reserve fund of enthusiasm. He must believe profoundly in the high character of his office and educate others constantly to believe in it. The ignorance of the great mass of the people as to the real function of penitentiaries and the methods by which they are carried on is amazing and mortifying to prison officials.

A part of the warden's mission is to acquaint the outside world with conditions as they exist inside, and to inspire the interest and support of the general public in measures for bettering and improving prison conditions. Legislative bodies especially, need to be brought into closer relations and the law makers made to realize their duty to the public and the convict in the enactment of wise, proper and righteous legislation.

Longfellow, in his beautiful poem, "THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP," tells why the master builder achieved success. It was because

"His heart was in the work and the heart
Giveth grace to every art."

The warden's heart must be in his work. His whole soul must be animated and permeated with an honest and sincere desire to bring penology up to a higher and nobler standard.

He must have a reserve force of enthusiasm that will not be daunted and destroyed by temporary failures or the lapses of some discharged or pardoned convicts, who, in spite of care and pains, will return to their evil ways. The enthusiasm that can bear the harsh and ignorant criticism and misrepresentations incident to his work; the enthusiasm that in its contagion will inoculate directors, subordinate officers, the press and the people with a desire for more light on penal problems and a purpose to be governed by that light; the enthusiasm that will beget great patience for the exacting, difficult and trying problems before him; that will make him believe that "a convict saved is a man made"; that will make him believe with the great English novelist "It is never too late to mend," and that as infinite care and pains finally brought Robinson, the twice convicted thief, up to the estate of honest manhood, so, infinite care and pains should be exerted with every man under his charge.

Pessimism has no rightful place in a penitentiary. In the language of Socrates, "Why should we who are never angry at an ill-conditioned body, always be angry with an ill-conditioned soul?"

The ignorant Hawes believed in the profitless crank, the black-hole, the deprivation of food, of bed, of clothing, the tortures of the waist jacket and the collar, and a sign over the door, "ABANDON HOPE ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE."

The twentieth century warden believes in the gospel of productive labor, of education of hand, head and heart, in the deprivation of privileges, largely as punishment, the segregation of the desperate and nearly hopeless, the enlightenment of an all-powerful, all potential, all influential example and the motto of Pope Clement, "It is of little advantage to restrain criminals by punishment unless you reform them with training and teaching."

THE CHAPLAIN.

The chaplain occupies an extremely important but delicate position in prison management. It is possible for him to be of vast influence and power for good.

The chaplain needs to be a man of large heart, aided by an abundance of sound common sense. He needs to bear in mind constantly, in the difficult and delicate work he is called upon to perform, that the discipline of the prison must be upheld and enforced.

Associate officers are frequently disturbed with the fear that the chaplain's influence will subvert the discipline of the prison; that the shrewd, unprincipled convicts by pouring into his ears their imaginary tales of woe, may succeed in working him.

The chaplain's first requirement, if he would succeed, is not to lose sight of the majesty of the law and of the prison rules.

The chaplain and the warden should go hand in hand, the one sustaining the other. They need to have a perfect understanding, neither mistrusting the other. Frequent conferences ought to enable them to proceed along proper lines. The chaplain's opportunities are limitless. I do not undertake to say what direction his duties shall take him. That will be discussed fully in the Chaplain's Association.

It is personal, individual work that counts in a prison. All the chaplain's work should be thought out beforehand, be methodical, premeditated, intentional, systematic and thorough. His chapel service should be rational, of the proper length, with exercises, song service and preaching service carefully chosen. There should be no room in a prison service for the spectacular, the highly emotional and the haphazard sermons and addresses of a chance visitor. A reasonably rigid censorship ought to be exercised over the contributions of outsiders to the chapel service.

The influence of sight seers and idle visitors to prisons, always bad, reaches the acme of its perniciousness in the chapel service, if unrestrained and unguided by prison officials of experience and firmness, who alone are in a position to know that sickly sentimentality is the worst possible pabulum to offer men already too eager to justify their evil deeds.

THE PHYSICIAN.

A physician's duties in a prison are necessarily onerous, important and difficult. Convicts are constantly claiming that they are unable physically to do the work assigned them. No one can determine the truthfulness of their statements except the physician, and to determine whether the convict is really ill or exercising his usual finesse to shirk his duties, requires keen judgment of human nature as well as an accurate knowledge of his profession.

The convict, housed and hemmed in, is peculiarly susceptible to hallucinations and to thinking that he is afflicted with imaginary ills.

A physician needs a large fund of good judgment, will-power and common sense to combat successfully with this class of people. How far he should use some of the subterfuges supposed to be employed by physicians in the outside world in dealing with people afflicted with hypochondria, I am unable to say, but a certain amount of cheerfulness coupled with firmness is undoubtedly of great value.

SUBORDINATE OFFICERS.

The subordinate officers of a prison are very important factors in the management of a prison. They come in actual, continual, personal contact with the men.

No difference how capable and zealous may be the warden and his deputy, unless they have men of character, zeal, intelligence and discretion to carry out their orders and wishes faithfully and well, all their plans will come to naught.

Guards, keepers and watchmen should be of good moral character. It is useless to talk about reforming convicts unless they have continually the benefit of good examples set before them. Precept amounts to nothing unless re-enforced by good examples.

They should be educated and intelligent.

Their duties are largely discretionary, and in their contact with convicts a high order of intelligence is necessary to know the right thing to do. Strict integrity and truthfulness are prime requisites. An officer's word should be beyond question and he should be absolutely impartial in his dealings with his men.

No special system will bring the highest results with any kind of men behind it. Any system with men of character, conscience and capacity will achieve great good. Any system with men of bad character, ignorant, careless and indifferent, will fall to the ground.

A common impression prevails that any one is good enough for a prison guard, and if he is too old, too feeble and decrepit or too lazy for other work, his political strikers will try to unload him on the penitentiary authorities.

Prison Directors, Wardens and all in authority should set their faces resolutely against this erroneous and terribly harmful idea. Partisan politics should not be a factor in the appointment or the retention of any prison officer. All subordinates should be appointed under civil service rules and be required to pass a civil service examination, and after entering upon his duties be required to take up a course of study on penological questions and problems and be otherwise carefully schooled and drilled along the lines of their work. If time demonstrates their unfitness for the position they should be summarily removed. If they manifest an aptitude and an interest in their work they should be encouraged, promoted and protected against removal for partisan reasons.

Whenever directors in banks are elected with reference to their political proclivities and not with reference to their business sagacity, it will be proper to select prison officials for the same reason.

Whenever great business firms discharge their managers because their political views do not coincide with those of the owners, then and not till then should prison officials step down and out for political reasons.

What would be thought of directors of a business enterprise or the regents of a university who selected their business manager, their teachers, with regard to their views on finance or on the tariff, or who would remove a faithful, efficient and capable servant after years of experience in his work, merely because he did not coincide with the political views of the majority of his directors in a matter in no way germane to his work?

As Boards of Directors spend but a small percentage of their time at the institutions they control, it necessarily takes them years to get a clear insight into all the details of its work, and to make a change just when, through the process of time, the director becomes fitted for his work, is the height of unwisdom and folly. Boards of Charity and Correction having charge of all the institutions in the State would certainly be much more desirable. Such officers could devote their entire time and attention to the work, and thus be able to give all the institutions of the State uniform treatment and attention. Boards of Directors or of Control should be appointed and reappointed as long as they are efficient and manifest an interest in the work.

And so with all other officers from the warden down, and each should feel and know that faithfulness and efficiency is the only standard, and that they would not be expected, required or permitted to weaken their influence or their energies by undue or active participations in political effort or political manipulations.

The surest sign of unfitness for prison work and lack of interest in the work is an undue activity in political caucuses and conventions. The official practically advertises that he cannot hope to hold his place on account of his efficiency, but expects to do so because of his services as a political henchman.

THE DEMANDS OF THE AGE.

As this age demands a high order of talent and effort in the industrial, so it should demand and require great ability and power in the penal world.

The third of a century of the life of the National Prison Congress has witnessed great progress in the domain over which it has advisory power. Many problems pressing for solution demand the highest functions of those in control.

Do punishments deter men from crime?

Do the universal customs of the times foster and beget much of the crime committed?

Does war beget murder elsewhere?

Is social vengeance a failure, and are other means necessary to prevent crime?

Should not executives now clothed with power to terminate or shorten sentences of imprisonment also have power to lengthen terms of imprisonment or to change from a definite to an indefinite term whenever they become in possession of facts regarding the convict's previous life or present character, which were unknown to the sentencing judge?

Should not United States prisoners incarcerated in the various state prisons have the restrictions of the indeterminate sentence and the parole, thus securing a uniform system of treatment for all prisoners and greatly promoting the discipline?