As we went through one building, where some score of prisoners were silently working at plastering, painting, carpentering and stone cutting, Warden Gilmour said: “You see, I have my cells only on one side of the central corridor. I mean that all the cells shall have southern exposure. Each of the cells contains eight hundred cubic feet.” I thought of the twelve hundred cells at Sing Sing, still used, which contain less than two hundred cubic feet of air space, and have no windows opening to the outer air as at Guelph. “Then we have dormitories,” continued the warden, “not the big dormitories of olden times, but comfortably small rooms that will accommodate from twenty-five to thirty men. We are trying the experiment. I don’t know yet how it will work out. We are expecting to have here ultimately about seven hundred men.” I asked him about the expense of all this. “Are you saving money or saving men?” was his sharp retort. “Nevertheless, we are demonstrating every day the economy of using prison labor, as well as the economy of giving these men reasonable accommodations. I can’t give you as yet the figures you want. We are teaching these men how to work, and the usefulness of work. The bulk of them, when they leave here, are not going upon farms, but back to the cities from which they came. So we are teaching some city trades, but without neglecting farm industries. We are raising about all we need to eat, as well as the stock we raise for food. But a prison farm without important and diversified industries is a mistake.” I looked around the eight hundred acres. There was a sweep of horizon, a tingling acid in the air, a quietude, a blessed monotony in comparison with the feverish city, a spaciousness of possibilities, as compared with the walled-in prisons like Sing Sing; in short, an approximation to the sanest kind of normal life. “Work?” The warden smiled. “Why, we’re working here ten hours a day; seven to twelve, one to six. Each man that works here gets a gratuity of two dollars a month, but he loses a part of that gratuity if he offends against the rules of the place. They get the money when they go out. Our payments to prisoners amount to between one hundred and fifty and two hundred dollars a month. We discharge each month about thirty to forty men. They get, in addition, a ticket back to the place from which they were sent.” I asked the warden if he was ultimately going to build a wall around the place. “Not if I can help it. I don’t think bars on cell windows are necessary; but supervision is. However, we may as well proceed with reasonable speed in our modern ideas. Ultimately we may need the protected windows.”