she had never come. Then we reached a great iron gate, and it opened and clanked behind us. In an instant the big outer world had vanished. We were shut in by a sinister gray mass with barred gate. A sickening sense of impotence filled me. Pride said I must go on, but I was afraid. I had reduced myself to a will-less thing that could be moved about at the whim of unseen authority.

What lay inside that silent building? Up the path with reluctant steps I journeyed. Why had I been such a fool? Surely my knowledge of prisons did not need this experiment to convince me of their vileness. But my sensations belied the thought. No written word had ever made me realize how great may be the fear of what lies behind those gray stones and barred windows. Only once before had I experienced such a dread, and that the day before an operation. The strongest man is shattered by horror of the unknown.

THE ENTRANCE INTO THE PRISON

BUT we had reached the front door, and it was opened, and we were thrust inside. I heard the policeman ask if he was needed, and then he left, and with him disappeared the last friendly face. I longed to clutch Elizabeth, but two matrons in blue uniform and white aprons stood guard. These women did not speak. They had evidently expected the arrival of two convicts, but they gave no greeting and made no inquiry. We might have been four-legged animals or express packages for aught their expression showed. They were curious and a little fearful. We were curious and very fearful. We gazed at one another like dogs at bay. Having sized us up, they hurried through their disagreeable task. Without explanation or comment we were led through twisting passages and doors. Then began that persistent note of prison, the locking and unlocking of doors, the jangling of keys, which is forever breaking the silence and beating in on one the knowledge, "You 're locked in; you can't get out."

We passed down a long corridor on which were the barred doorways of twenty cells. There was light in the corridor, but none in the cells, and I wondered how many breathing, restless crea

Here

tures were gazing out. The jangling of keys and our footsteps must have told of our approach. At the end of the corridor in a small room was a bath-tub. the procession halted. Then more jangling of keys, and a little colored convict was released to aid with the task in hand. In utter silence the ceremony proceeded, Elizabeth and I watching breathlessly what was to happen next. A sheet was spread for each of us, and on it we stood, taking off our garments one by one. It was all like a dream. The solemnity was so great we might have been undergoing an initiation into some fraternity. I had an insane desire to giggle, but the curious and hard eyes of the matron were upon me. Besides, my clothes seemed to be making no impression. I had forgotten before entering to remove my watch and gold cuff-links, and my long brown ulster had just come from London. Surely these things would be noticed. Moreover, only a few hours before I had bathed and put on fresh white underwear. But this also roused no comment. Evidently many convicts on entering prison must be clean and well-dressed.

Then came the bath, taken in public, Iwith the aid of the little colored convict. Under direction, she scrubbed and scrubbed, we being told to keep hands off. Some one originated the theory that all convicts are dirty, and truly it is on that theory that the whole prison system is built. A convict means dirt, physical, mental, and moral, and is treated accordingly. That this may not be the case makes no impression. I was a convict; therefore, I was full of vermin. I saw Elizabeth's head being ducked into the same water in which she was bathed. With shrinking, I begged to be let off until the morrow, pleading a headache. To my surprise, the request was granted. But the next instant I was told to bend my head, and the contents of a dark-green bottle were poured upon me and rubbed in. The penetrating and biting odor of kerosene pervaded everything. A hot wave of indignation flooded me. Two days before my hair had been washed and waved and was soft and sweet-smelling. Surely my head might be clean, even supposing I had forged a check. But no, I was a convict, and red tape must triumph here as elsewhere.

THE TERRORS OF THE FIRST NIGHT

ONLY one small towel, the size of a table napkin, was given to dry both head and body. A coarse, white cotton nightgown, clean, but old, bearing the name of the last wearer, was furnished. Clad in this and barefooted, I was led to a cell and locked in. A few minutes later I heard the reassuring sound of the door in the next cell being closed and locked, and I knew that for the night at least Elizabeth was my neighbor. I tapped on the wall to make sure, and immediately there came a satisfying answer. I examined my

bed. The mattress was covered with stains, but the sheets were clean, though coarse. I crawled into them. At first I did not notice the steely hardness of the bed. I was too occupied with my straw pillow. But the mattress rested on iron slats, and as the night advanced I began to trace the exact location of every one.

My light had been switched off, but through the bars the light from the corridor filtered in. Whenever I opened my eyes, that barred door obtruded itself. It glared down upon me, it seemed to run up against me, it haunted me, it forever reiterated the fact, "You are an animal shut in a cage.' The little iron bed, the wooden stand in the corner, with its basin and cup of water, the three-legged stool, the yellow walls, the painted window-all were lost sight of in the presence of that barred door. That and that only, with the endless jangling of keys, became the center of existence. Drawn by a weird fascination, I crept out of bed and to the door, and, grasping the cold iron, shook it. But all was secure. Then I pressed my face against the bars and listened breathlessly. I could hear the breathing of other prisoners and occasionally a sigh. What were they dreaming or feeling? Already I knew the worst feature of the prison system-the brutal officialdom that treated human beings as though they were not human, as though they were cogs in a machine. Then I heard footsteps, the jangling of keys. The night matron was making her hourly round, and I scurried back to bed. Down the corridor she came, pausing at doors to shake them and jangle those keys, intent on reminding us of our degradation and hopelessness.

All night I tossed and turned on my

pillow. The kerosene from my hair had made it sticky and vile. I choked with the odor, and, seizing my towel, vainly tried to rub it off; but it permeated everything. Frequently I knocked softly on the wall, and always there came an answering rap, and I knew that Elizabeth, too, was restless.

A dirty, yellow light struggled through the painted window. Morning had come at last. There were sounds of activity in the adjoining cells. A gray-haired old matron in blue uniform and white apron came to my bars and peered in. Her face was lined and sour; she uttered no greeting, merely gazed at me from head to foot, as though I were an animal in the zoo, and remarked: "A new one, eh? Came last night," and then moved on. I had a terrible sense of injury; surely she ought to see I was n't a criminal. But perhaps there is no distinguishing mark.

The little colored girl who had assisted the night before was moving busily about, helping the matron. Food had arrived, and she was distributing it. Slices of bread were left between the bars to be plucked off by the inmates. Then later the cell door was unlocked and a mug of coffee and a bowl of stew were handed in, all in absolute silence. The coffee was only dish-water, the stew chiefly a thick flour paste. I remembered yesterday's breakfast, and contented myself with bread.

After feeding-time the dishes were collected, and the little convict took them to the sink at the end of the corridor. I envied her her task, as I am sure every inmate did, just to be out beyond the barred door doing something, anything. The minutes dragged on. I had no clothes, so I lay still. After what seemed hours, the matron returned, this time accompanied by a convict, laden with clothes, and the little colored trusty. In the presence of these three I was ordered to take off my nightgown. Underwear many sizes too large was given to me, and a heavy, coarse petticoat of bedticking, also much too large, and finally the thick, white canvas dress, frayed and gray from washing. It was all in one piece, buttoning tightly down the front. The sleeves were much too short, the collar too low. Anything more unbecoming and degrading would be hard to imagine. It reminded me of

pictures of the clothes worn by slaves. A pair of speckled knit stockings and heavy, round-toed shoes completed my toilet. These shoes seemed to give the matron much pleasure, for she said, "See what fine shoes you 've been given."

THE SENSELESS NAGGING OF THE
PRISON SYSTEM

I KNEW there was no good protesting, but I wanted to curse. Prison has a curious way of dragging to the surface all the profanity one has ever heard. Nothing else seemed adequately to express one's hate and indignation. I could hear Elizabeth making her toilet. Once I heard the matron's voice say: "Eh, there, git spry, git spry! Where do you think you are?" We had both been unmercifully hurried, for we were wanted in the office. As we left our cells I glanced at Elizabeth. There had been no mirror to view myself, so I was not prepared for the transformation. With hair slicked back and greasy from kerosene, prison shoes sticking out from a dress much too short, she was a ludicrous object, and I doubled up with mirth and snickered. Laughter in prison is a sin. The matron turned on me fiercely:

"Be still! Don't you know where you are? If ye hain't ever been in prison before, you 're in one now."

I pulled myself together and put my hand over my mouth, but my whole being shook. The gloom and horror of the night vanished in the light of the enormous comedy we were enacting. But I did not wish to go to the cooler, as the punishment cell is called, and with a supreme effort I controlled myself. Despite the terrible rush in which we were hustled into our clothes, we waited for a long time in a hallway before being called. We sat patiently side by side. I longed to lean over and touch Elizabeth and whisper, but our matron stood guard like a dragon, and when Elizabeth's eyes once sought the floor to gaze at a cat, she stormed:

"Stop looking at that cat! Look at the wall!"

Did the system of nagging never end? Was the prison system planned with the view to filling the heart with rage and hate? It is unwise if so, for prisons are

emptied on an average every five years and the inmates sent back into the world.

In the office our names, addresses, names of relatives, criminal career, etc., were taken down in business manner. Then we were returned to our cells. In my ten by six room I found dinner piled on my stool, though it was only shortly after eleven. But to-day was election day, and a holiday for the matrons. Holidays, periods of rejoicing for officials, are days of torture for prisoners. On these occasions and on Sundays the convict is safely disposed of by locking him in his cell for interminable hours. I had thought much of election day, but somehow my interest was gone. It seemed unimportant who was elected mayor. Only one thing mattered, those gray walls. For this prison also does: it makes the convict center on self, on his physical discomfort, on a barred door. It suppresses human love, and robs life of its value.

I looked at my dinner. A great mass of coarse cabbage filled the plate. Hidden under it was a piece of corned beef. It was too revolting to touch. I made an attempt at the boiled potato, but it was soggy and cold, and I gave it up. In a bowl was a quantity of apple-butter, but this was sour, and I left it untouched. Bread was again my meal. When the dinner things were removed, we were told to keep a supply of bread, for no supper would be served.

We had no plates, so I piled my three slices of bread on my stool and sat on the bed. Then began an interminable afternoon. Minute after minute, hour after hour, dragged by. I paced my floor and sat on my bed and paced my floor again. There was not even a Bible to read, nothing to see or do. Often I pressed my face against the bars and listened intently. Two or three times I heard the cooing of a baby. Such a good little baby-a baby that never cried! The mother occupied a cell down the corridor. I had seen her rocking and feeding her child as I passed her barred door in the morning. Born in prison! What a fate for a struggling little soul that had no desire to come into the world! Once as I stood at my door I heard groans, then a voice:

"I've got the devil in me. I can't stand this; if they don't let me out soon, I'll smash things."

Another voice urged courage and gave assurance that to-morrow they would have to let us get the air and walk in the yard. A third asked:

"Did you see the new girls?"

One of the previous voices replied: "Yes, I saw them when they came; they had good clothes." Then one of the former voices said:

"But what did their faces look like?"

At this moment our old dragon came tiptoeing in, and the whisperers were caught. I had been on the point of joining in the conversation. Lucky I did n't, for later I learned the penalty inflicted: three days of close confinement in the cell on a diet of one slice of bread and one gill of water three times a day; in addition a fine of fifty cents for each day of punishment, and days added to the term of imprisonment. After this excitement and the matron's departure there was no sound. The minutes dragged on. I had no idea whether it was two or six. I had lost all sense of time; all was dull silence. And this was the place where I had been told people were violent and used obscene language. Thus far prisoners seemed creatures but half alive, inclosed in a living tomb.

Occasionally I rapped on the wall, but the answer was feeble, and this bothered me. Presently I could hear that some one was violently sick. The sound was near. It might be from the next cell. I could n't be sure. It was horrible to be unable to give assistance. No one could give any help. No one stirred, and no one dared speak. Later, when the matron made her rounds, she paid no heed to the sufferer, and Elizabeth went uncared for, for it was she who had been ill. Her jar was not emptied until the following morning. Jars used for all purposes are emptied only once a day, and the small hand-basin filled with fresh water only once in twenty-four hours. I had already washed twice in my basin, and the water was sticky with kerosene. I did not make another attempt that evening. Besides, I no longer cared whether I was clean or not. At supper-time water was given to us, and basin and cup were filled. We had coffee in the morning, and tea occasionally for dinner, but only this one precious cup of life-giving water. I clutched mine greedily. Half should go for supper and

half for the night; my teeth must go unbrushed. Would the day never end!

But twilight came at last. I undressed and went to bed. The bedclothes were heavy and gave little warmth, for the blankets were made of shoddy. I shivered with cold. Once when the night matron made her rounds I called softly and asked for another cover. This woman, like the day matron, was old. She was whitehaired, feeble, and very near-sighted. She may have been a pleasing and venerable figure on Sunday, clad in her best, but as a matron she was a failure. She met my request for a blanket with annoyance. She must n't be bothered. It was n't her business to do anything but walk through the buildings. "You should have asked the day matron in the daytime for a blanket." Through this incident I learned the lesson all convicts soon learn: it is wisest to suffer in silence, for only suicide or severe illness compels attention. But my request for a blanket was unusual, and therefore troubled the old woman. Twice in the night she woke me. Once to say, "You 've a wash rug on the floor; use that if you 're cold," and the second time to reiterate, "You should n't ask me for a blanket; you ought to ask the day matron."

So I lay and shivered. I was horribly uncomfortable, dirty, hungry, and thirsty, and my bed grew hourly harder. The day had been a horror, but the night was worse. All my innate ugliness rose to the surface. I wanted to grasp my bars and shake them and yell. I would gladly join my convict friend in a smashing orgy if they did n't let me out soon. I, too, had the devil in me. Rebellious thoughts surged in my brain. What right had man so to abuse his fellow-man? What right to degrade him, to step on him, to ignore him? What right to nag and browbeat until he can no longer keep silent, and self-respect flares up?

What wonder if prisoners occasionally are violent! It would be marvelous if they did not grow to hate all mankind and come out of bondage bent on revenge. My heart ached with pity. One thing at least had been accomplished: I had become in spirit a convict. I was one of

The third day I awoke with dread. The end of the week seemed years off. I