That night he broke into a boot warehouse, and was caught in the act. He had been with the judge previously mentioned in the morning, and had brought away plenty of work; at night he was in the hands of the police. Five pounds of his own earnings were found on him when he was searched. A sentence of three years was imposed, his ticket-of-leave was revoked, and he had in all seven years to serve. ‘Don’t think too badly of me. You know I have fallen; you know why I have fallen; but you do not know--you cannot know--the hundreds of times that I have put the horrible temptation from me.’ Thus he wrote me, and I believed him. Not one word of condemnation had he for his wretched wife. Her remorse was dreadful to see, but it only drove her to drink the more, and in a few weeks the nice little home went. Not a vestige remained, and the forlorn wretch was again out upon the streets, a homeless wanderer and a drink-smitten vagrant; but not for long, for she soon disappeared as completely as the home--into the grave or some workhouse infirmary in all probability. At intervals during his three years the man wrote to me from a convict settlement, and slowly for him those three years must have passed. But they ended at length, and some circumstances in his favour having come to my knowledge, they were placed, through the help of one of our magistrates, before the Home Secretary, who most kindly released him again on ticket-of-leave. And so he came back to me. Back; but how changed! Men must, I know, be punished; detained in prison they unfortunately must be; but is it good to turn them into wild animals? I was speechless at the sight of him. ‘What is the matter?’ he asked. ‘Matter, man! Turn round and look in that glass!’ He did so, and then sat down and, covering his face with his hands, cried like a child. He had not seen the reflection of himself for three years, and he was horrified at himself. I ask again, Is it right to send long-term men out of prison in such condition and appearance? Their prison-made clothing is of itself enough to damn them; the material is bad enough, but the cut and make are worse, while their underwear has no semblance of make about it, and this man’s would have probably fitted a man quite twice his size. The hair upon his head was little more than equal in length to the hair on his face, and in both cases it stood at right angles. It is cruel, it is wrong--nay, it is more, for it is silly to turn men out of prison in such guise, and expect them to go straight and to reform. There is, I know, a redeeming influence to a man that is down, especially to a man of taste, in a clean, well-fitting shirt. I know more, for I have seen some men find positive salvation in a well-made, nicely-fitting suit of clothes. Anything which helps a man to feel some degree of self-respect is helpful to him; anything which detracts from self-respect does but the more debase him, and render his position the more hopeless. The utter