One of the surprises of my life I received here in this same institution. It was a disappointment as well as a surprise. It was in the character of the chaplain—a minister of the gospel. This professed follower of the Nazarene was as little a Christian as I. The official above all others who should obtain the confidence of the prisoners was the man most detested by them. This dislike on the part of the men was well founded. He was sectarian rather than Christian, and hostile to all creeds other than his own. His insincerity was evident from his daily life. I have heard him preach on the blessings of poverty with three rings on his fingers, his gold watch lying open on the table before him, and a ruby throwing scintillating rays from its resting place in his neck scarf.A prisoner in the last stages of tuberculosis once sent for him. The chaplain came to his bedside some few days later. The prisoner was weak and exhausted from much coughing. The chaplain looked down on him and asked in a voice toned with disapproval, “Well, what do you want with me?” The prisoner whispered that he would like him to pray with him. “It’s too late for that,” the chaplain answered as he turned from the bedside. Some few days after the man died.

The duties of the chaplain consisted of opening and reading the letters sent and received by the prisoners, and preaching and praying on Sundays. We think the Master paid scant attention to his prayers.

The personality of the warden had contaminated the characters of his underlings with few exceptions. The guards were unsuited to their positions and held them only by reason of political influence. Like a flower standing amid a great expanse of tares and thistles stood one man in this institution. He held at that time the position of assistant warden, and I ever found him square and decent. It was due to him in no small measure when the prisoners enjoyed any privileges. He leaned ever on the side of the man, always human and ready to do a favor.