Known to the Police

, not altogether healthy, would be exercised on both prisoners and public. The leniency of sentences, or of treatment whilst undergoing sentences, has

The efforts made in prison to get prisoners to attach themselves to some recognized Prisoners' Aid Society before[Pg 93] discharge, good as they are, are not without some ill consequences. The sympathy of the community for men and women who have broken their country's laws, and who are undergoing, or have undergone, terms of imprisonment, has been so often and so earnestly proclaimed that even this expression of sympathy has had consequences that were not anticipated, but which might have been expected if a little more thought had been given to the matter

n the ordinary prisoners, who have but little education, and for them it has disastrous effects. If there is one virtue that is absolutely necessary to a discharged prisoner, it is the virtue of self-reliance. Without it he is nothing. No matter what sympathy and what aid be extended to him from societies or individuals, without self-reliance he is a certain failure. Anything that tends to lessen self-reliance in discharged prisoners has, then, a tendency to reduce their chances of reformation. After all has been done that can possibly be done for discharged prisoners, one is compelled-reluctantly compelled-to the conclusion that the only men who can be rescued are those who possess grit and self

speak to us like a man last Sunday?" "Yes, I was at Pentonville last Sunday, and I hope I spoke like a man." "Ah, that you did! And when I heard you, I said: 'I'll see him when I come out. He will be sure to give me half a dollar.'" "How did you get my address?" "From another chap." "When did you come out?" "This morning." "How long have you been in?" "Six months." "Got all your conduct marks?" "Every one." "Then you had eight shillings when you left the prison. How much have you got left?" "Never a sou!" "What have you done with it?" "I bought a collar, a pocket-handkerchief, a necktie, and a bit of tobacco, and a good dinner." "You saved nothing for your lodging?" "No; I thought[Pg 96] you would see me right." "I see! How old are you?" "Thirty-four." "How tall?" "Six feet one." "What is your weight?" "Fourteen stone." "My friend, you are big enough, strong enough, and young

ce of sorrow or shame, but trade, as far as they can trade, upon the shameful fact that they have been rogues and vagabonds, very different feelings are evoked. My experience leads me to the belief that th

sometimes been the victim of specious scoundrels who probably had ne

two years ago, and you helped him when he came out of prison. He kept the place you got for him, and now he has got a much better one at Birmingham." I tried to recall young Brown, but my memory was vacant on the matter. At length I asked for his description, when the young man I had seen in the morning was revealed. He noted my departure, and when quite sure that I was not in the way, he came to the door and asked to see me. He told my wife a long tale about hi

oners are, of course, people of low intelligence, who cannot estimate things at a proper value or see things as ordinary-minded people see them, and to these the belief becomes a certainty and the hope almost a realization. Let me repeat, then, that the duty of the community to help and "rescue" d

and others. I am not sure which is the more hopeless and repulsive kind of an individual-the man who blatantly demands assistance because he has been a rogue, or the fawning hypocrite who[Pg 99]

ad expressed during the week a wish to consult me were allowed to do so in strict privacy. I had some very interesting talks with them. For many of them I felt profoundly sorry, and

ce, and he promptly replied, "Oh, I had a high old time." I saw sensual enjoyment written very largely about his lips and eyes; but I repeated his words, "A high old time?" "Yes; a good time, you know." So I enumerated drink, gambling, women, and to each of them he replied, "Yes." He evidently looked back to that wicked period with great pleasure. I felt that he was far beyond my prentice hand, for I thought of his mother and sisters, of the employer he had so ruthlessly robbed, and of his own certain future. So I said to him, "My son, I cannot help you; no one can help you. It is no use wasting money in sending you to Canada. Canada is no place for you, for you cannot get away from yourself." He said, "I shall be away from temptation in Canada." "No," I said; "that is impossible: the devil is always to hand, even in Canada." "Won't you help me to get away from London?" "No

ght to be certain as daylight. I would, however, do much to make those consequences, not only certain, but swift, reasonable, and dignified, but not vindictive or revengeful. Punishment should be severe enough to convey an i

rom this knowledge and experience I am forced to the conclusion that, as a rule, it is not a wise or a good thing to prevent the consequence of crime falling upon the criminal; but, as I have previously said, those consequences ought to be reason

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hearted late in life, and have lost my sympathy for unfortunate people. I ask my readers to accept my assurance that this is not the case; my sympathy is larger than ever, for poor broken humanity is with me an ever-present sorrow. I never refuse assistance to a hard-up scoundrel without a heart-

d help; two were absolute strangers to me; one I had known previously, for, unfortunately, six years ago I met him before he was consigned to prison, and also after he came out. At that time I did my best for him, and gave him a suit of clothes, and procured him, after great difficulties, some employment. During the last year he had called on me several times, when I had resolutely declined to assist him. He seemed astonished, and said, "But you helped me before." To-night I was a bit angry, and said, "Oh, is it you again? You are troubling me too often; I can do nothing for you." He resented the idea that he was a too frequent visitor. "Why, it is six weeks since I was here." My next visitor was a strong, healthy young man, who promptly touched his forehead with his fingers by way of salute. "Just come out of prison, sir." "Well, what of that?" "I am a married man, with two children." "I am sorry for your wife and children." He misunderstood me. "I thought you would be. We must pay our rent to-ni

me. The inevitable front-door again. I sometimes wonder how many silent vows I have regist

bly, too, will tell them of his success, and chaff them about their failure. But it was the rain that did it, and I hope that fact may be taken into consideration when judgment is delivered.[Pg 105] True, by their continual coming they had wearied me, and by their persistence they had annoyed me; but the sight of a homeless vagabond in the pelting rain acted as a counter-irritant,

lsion, conduct themselves decently; but if work and reasonable payment were provided, compulsion would still be necessary, for the greater part of them have no continuity of purpose, and are as thoughtless of to-morrow as butterflies, and they would very soon, were it possible, revert to an aimless, wandering life. It is the lack of grit, of continuity of purpose, of moral principles, combined with inferior physical health and a low standard of intelligence, that renders the position[Pg 106] of many discharged prisoners so hopeless. We may blame them-perhaps it is right to blame them-for not exe

friendly words to them, and asked those to put up their hands who had been previously in prison. A number of hands were put up

nd, to my astonishment, at least six youths who had listened to my lectures in other prisons were detained in this particular prison. I could not help telling them that I thought my lectures had not done them much good. "We liked t

's wall are so great that they cannot face them. But the saddest part of it is that they do not

d all the Labour Homes combined can do nothing with them or for them; for prison life is easier than wood-chopping, and the comforts of prison are superior to those of a Labour Home. The Borstal system is good, so far as it goes, but it does not go half far enough; it is not vigorous enough. Possibly, if these young men were detained three times as lo

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rtheless, they are now in the army. Why there should be any difficulty about such fellows joining the army I don't understand. They are animals, and they can fight! If their teeth are not good, what does it matter? They are not now required to bite cartridges. They can be taught to discharge rifles, and a bullet from one of their rifles may prove as deadly as a bullet from the rifle of a better man. "The character of the army must be maintained." By all means keep up the char

in cheap lodging-houses or in prison. They beg or they steal when at liberty. Occasionally they do a little work, when that work does not require much strength or brains. They graduate in idleness and crime; they become habituated to prison, and finally they become hopeless criminals. Large sums of money are expended in a vain endeavour to reform them; larger sums still are expended in maintaining public institutions that we call prisons, in which they are kept for a short period, and in which th

ear they are called up for training, but their few weeks of trainin

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are not good enough to be shot at! They are not good enough to shoot at others! It would appear that a large amount of moral exc

t to be effectual, too deadening to be useful, too monotonous to be elevating. Compulsory discipline, with a fair degree of liberty, a reasonable remuneration for their services, and

. But that means socialism pure and simple; for if workshops were provided for young criminals, there

ety it will be a bad day for England when idle and dishonest youth stands a better chance in life t

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compel continuity of work; neither can they secure regular employment for any that might be inclined to perseverance and industry. No Prisoners' Aid Society can do this, and it would be well for everybody concerned if th

ready been in prison more than twenty times, were agai

tatistics are available, 10,700 men and women who had been committed to prison

es, for they are all animated with an earnest desire to help discharged prisoners. Every society that exists, and every individual member of every society, would be more than delighted-they[Pg 112] would be thankful to God-if they could in some effectual way help every discharged prisoner.

dressing, continued for a few weeks, be considered work? Paper and rag sorting, and the carrying of advertising boards at intervals, must not be dignified by the word "work." All these things are useful to a limited extent and to a certain class. They suit those men, and those men only, who have no desire for the discipline of real work, by which I mean regular and [Pg 113]continuous labour. Any discharged prisoner who possesses a fair amount of health and strength and an atom of grit stands a much better chance when he relies upon himself than when he seeks the aid of an organization; for life in a Labour Home does not procure him, or help him to procure, honest and continuous work. Even a lengthened stay in a Labour Home leaves him in the same position as when he left prison. Relying on himself, a

ower to enforce any discipline or impose any restraint upon them; secondly, no society can procure, even for young ex-prisoners, continuous and progressive employment. I know the difficulties, and something of the anxieties that societies experience in this direction, for I have shared them. Honesty is essential even for porters, vanmen and milkmen. The choice of occupation for ex-prisoners under twenty-one is very limited. The pick and shovel are of no use to them. Trades they have none. Clerkships are out of the questi

es its cargo. During the time aboard they have had a rough time. The voyage has lasted long enough to make them heartily and bodily sick of the sea; but it has not lasted long enough to inure them to the life and give them a liking for it, while the comfort aboard a "collier" makes them sigh for the comforts of prison. If not paid off at the first port, a good many youths, to use their own expression, "can't stick it," so they "bunk" at the first opportunity. Still, they have been "sent to sea," and figure accordingly in the published report

should therefore have received at least 17s. He was considerably surprised to find that only 9s. was forthcoming, the skipper telling him, and producing a document to that effect, that there was a lien upon his first wages of 8s. for a "shipping fee" which he, the skipper, had paid to the man who introduced him. He stayed in Southend for a short time looking for another berth, for his discharge-note was in order, and his conduct appears to have been satisfactory. But berths are not to be had at Southend, so with his last money he paid his fare to London, where he landed penniless. This custom of paying "hangers-on" at the docks of large seaports a sum of money for "shipping" youths prevails largely, a

al methods would be found for dealing with those who, either from incapacity, desire, or social circumstances, appear quite willing to spend their days in prison. With the older prisoners I am not now concerned, for the Home Secretary and his advisers fully recognize that for them new methods must be tried, and their Bill now before Parliament makes it sufficiently evident; but why not begin with them earlier in life? Surely, if the[Pg 118] fact of an elderly man having been committed four times on indictment is sufficient to stamp him as "habitual," for whom a more drastic treatment must be provided, then the fact of a youth or young man under twenty-five having been in prison an equal number of times, coupled with the fact that he is homeless and workless, ought to be quite sufficient to ensure him a long period of useful discipline in some place other than prison. By some such means the supply of young criminals, that at present seems inexhaustible, would be stopped, and the difficulty with regard to older cri

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y these youths the greatest blessing given to humanity-discipline? Punish them, you say. My friend, you cannot confer moral worth with stripes. Longer terms of imprisonment! They will eat your food, lie in your beds, and make themselves as comfortable as possible. Like animals, they will "nestle down." But they behave themselves in prison. Ay, they do that, for they want all the advantages they can obtain. But they behave themselves principally because they are under authority,

0] with a measure of freedom, and opportunities for technical training. But wiser heads than mine may formulate a better plan; if so, I am for it.

that he was placed in the bookbinding department, and that the greatest amount of hard labour he performed was three and three-quarter hours per day, and this at a trade of which he had not the slightest previous knowledge-a trade, too, that requires not only skill, but celerity of movement, and, moreover, a trade at which there was not the slightest chance of his obtaining employment when at liberty. He did not average three hours' real work per day, and this works out at forty-three days' work of ten hour

itted to their charge. His failure cannot be charged to the prison officials. They honestly did their best, for they were genuinely interested in him. Neither do I say that any prison system would have saved him, but I do say-and in this I think most reasonable people will agree with me-that very light work done at a very

uld be glad to give prisoners twice the amount of work they are at present giv

orked that large numbers of young men will be kept out of prison,[Pg 122] for at

e ex-prisoner

t my Life

uvenil

ison-van to prison, where I arrived about 7.15. I was then taken to the reception-hall, and after being searched and all particulars taken, I was told to strip, and all my property was entered in a large book, and I had to sign to acknowledge that all my belongings were duly entered. I then had a bath, and was given

alternate days. At 8.30 I had to put out my dust or bucket, and at 8.45 I went to chapel. At 9.40 to 10.40 drill, then back in my cell for the rest of t

10.40, school 10.45 to 11.45, dinner 12 o'clock to 1.30, shop 1.45 to 4.45, supper at 5 o'clock. Thus my change till the first of March. After this I went to drill before breakfast, and my duties were as fo

all the J.A. prisoners who had done more than one month. This was from 5.30 to 6.3

all prison life. I was awakened at 7 a.m., breakfast 7.15 to 8.30, chapel 8.50 to 10.30, exercise 10.50 to 11.20 (if weather permitted), dinner 12 o'clock to 1.30, chapel 1.45 to 2.45, and supper at about 4.15 to 4.30; and, as I could not bear to si

my six months. The Governor, the chaplain, and all the officials were good to me. I was confirmed in