The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1867-11-29

Inefo was an EDRilsh tnloi, VINO nAQ Deen
there but few days out of seven years. villa
noue, low-browed, thin-lipped fellow, with
white face; who had yet no relish for visitors,
and who, but for the additional penalty, would .
have gladly stabbed me with his shoemaker'e
knife. There was another German who had en-
tered the jail but yesterday, and who started
from his bed when we looked in, and pleaded,
in his broken English, very hard for work.
There was poet, who, after doing two days.
work in every four-and-twenty hours, one for
himself and one for the prison, wrote verses
about shipa The was by trade O mariner), and
the ''maddening wipe-cup," and his friends at
home. There were very many OF them. Some
reddened at the sight of visitors, and some
turned very pale. Some two or three had
prisoner nurses with them, for they were very
sick, and one Q fat old negro, whose leg had
been taken off within the Jan, had for his
attendant classical scholar and an accom-
plisbed surgeon, himself prisoner likewise
Sitting upon the stairs, engaged in some slight
work, was pretty colored boy. "ls there no
refuge for young criminals in Philadelphia,
thenW said l. "Yes, but only for white chill
dTeD.' Noble a1istocracy in crime
There was a sailor who had been there up.
wards of eleven years, and who In a few months
| time would be free. Eleven years Of solitary
confinement
81 am very glad to hear your time is nearly
out" What does he saYl Nothing. Why does
he stare at his hands, and pick the flesh upon
| his fingers, and rase his eyes for an instant,
every now and then, to those bare walls which
| have seen his head turn grey? II is way he
has sometimes
Does he never look men in the face, and does
| he always pluck at those hands Of his, as
| though he were bent on parting skin and bone?
| 1t Is his humor, nothing more.
1t is his humor, too, to say that he does not
| look forward to going out; that he is not glad
| tue time is drawing near; that he did look for
/ ward to it once, but that was very long ago;
| that he has lost all care for everything, 1t is
his humoT TO be a helpless, crushed, and broken
| man. And Heaven be his witness that be has
| his hUmoT thoroughly grati6ed!
There were three young women In adjoining
| cells, all convicted at the same time of conspl-
racy 10 rob their prosecutor. In the silence and
| solitude of their lives they had grown to be
| quite beautiful. Their looks we're very sad,
and might have moved the sternest visitor to
tears, but not to that kind of sorrow which the
| contemplation of men awakens. One was
| young girl; not twenty, as l recollect; whose
| snow-white room was hung with the work OF
| some former prisoner, and upon whose downcast
| face the sun in all its splendor shone down
| thI ough the high chink in the WALL where one
/ narrow strip OF bright blue sky was visible. She
was penitent and quiet; had come to be re-
signed, she said (and believe herr; and had
hereW said ono of my companions. She strug
| Pled-she did struggle very hard-to answer
| yes; but raising her eyes, and meeting that
| glimpse of freedom overhead, she burst into
tears, and said, 'She tried to be; she uttered no
complaint; but it was natural that she should
| sometimes long to go out of that one
cell; she could not help that" she sebbed, poor
/ went from cell to cell that day; and every
| face saw, or word heard, or incident noted,
is present TO my mind IN all It's painfulness.
glance of prison on the same plan, which |
| afterwards saw at Fittsburg.
When hal gene over that in the same man
| ner, asked the Governor if he had any person
| In his charge who was shortly going out. He
| had one be said, whose time was up next day;
| but be had only been prisoner two years.
| Two years! locked back through two years
in my own lfe-out OF Jail, prosperous, and
| happy, surrounded by blessings, comforts, and
| good fortune and thought how wide gap it
| was, and how long those two years passed in
| solitary captivity would have been. have the
| face OF this man who was going to be released
| next day before me now. 1t is almostmore memo
| rable in Its hAppiHess than the other faces in
| their misery How easy and how natural it
was for him to say that the system was good
one and and that the time went pretty quick
| he bad offended the law, and must satisfy it,
"be got along somehow" and so forth.
What did he call you back 70 say to you in
| that strange hutter?n l asked of my conductor,
| when he had locked the door and joined me in
| the passage.
cob! That he was afraid the soles of his
boots were not fit for walking, as they were
good deal worn when he came in; and that he
| would thank me very much to have them
| mended, ready.n
Those boots had been taken off his feet and
| put away with the rest of his clothes, two years
| before!
took that opportunity Of inquiring how they
conducted themselves Immediately before going
| OutI huuiuS tndt prtsuuoo lnSg ereupleo Noly
much.
| ''Well, it's not 30 much trembling" was the
| snSwer-"though they do quiver-as complete
arrangement of the nervous system. They
can't sign their names to the book; sometimes
can't even hold the pen; look about 'em without
| appearing to know why, or where they are; and
sometimes get up and sit down again twenty
| times in minute. This is when they're In the
Office. where they are taken with the hood on,
as they were brought in. When they get out
| side the gate they stop and look frat one way
| and then the other, not knowing which to take
| Sometimes they stagger as If they were drunk,
| and sometimes are feared to lean against the
fence, they're so bad-but they clear OF In
| course Of time.n
As walked among these solitary cells, and
| looked at the faces of the men within them, l
| tried to picture to myself the thoughts and feel
| ings natural to th cir condition. Imagined the
| hood just taken Off and the scene of their cap
tiyity disclosed to them In all its dismal mono
| tony.
| Al first, the man is stunned His confinement
is a hideous vision; and his old life reality
He throws himself upon his bed, and lies there
| abandoned to despair BY degrees the insup-
| portable solitude and barrenness OF the place
| rouse him from this stup0r, and when the trap
| in his grated door is opened, he humbly begs
and prays for work. "Giye me some work to
do or shall go raving madl"
He has it, and by 6ts and starts applies him
| self to labor; but every now and then there
comes upon him burning sense of the years
that must be wasted in that stone coffin, and
| sn agony so piercing In the recollection OF
those who are hidden IRON his view and know
ledge, that he starts from his seat, and,
| striding up and down the narrow room with
both hands clasped on his uplfted head, hears
spirits tempting him TO beat his brains out on
| Aeain ba falls unon his he'd and lies there