Dante once wrote that he found this inscription over the doors of hell: “Abandon hope all ye who enter here.” This describes to a nicety the prison in which I was confined for nearly eight years. Over the thousand and one prisoners, a warden of the old school of penology presided. He was one who believed in and practiced the adage, “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.” Yes, he even went further than that. He was a man of undoubted executive ability. He would have made an ideal head of some corporation where the question of men’s souls and bodies never entered into consideration. You could have searched the world to find one less worthy to be at the head of an institution of this kind. A saloon keeper, he had found the friendship of one politically high and secured the position. With the odor of his calling still upon him he came from behind his bar to sit in the office of the warden. He had the life and liberty, the responsibility of a thousand men under his care. For over twenty years he guarded the destiny of this institution. He was the enemy of every reform ever initiated. He refused to let outside men or women interest themselves in the cause of the prisoner. He made rules of unusual severity and punished cruelly any infraction. In this prison the contract system of employing prisoners was in use, and the warden was ever the friend of the contractor. He was eventually found guilty of grafting by a committee of investigation, and shortly before the verdict of these men resigned his office. CHAPTER XVII MISTAKES OF A CHAPLAIN 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.