No doubt you must think me a great big baby for the way I acted while in your presence this afternoon. I had no idea that you would call upon me so soon after your release, although I hardly think it would of made any difference whether it had of been a week from this afternoon; I would have acted the same.

The week that I spent working by your side was the most pleasant as well as the most profitable one of my life, and God, how I hated to see you go.

But your lecture this A. M. in chapel was the most wonderful I ever heard. Many was the heart that cried out its thankfulness to God for sending you into us, and many a silent promise was made to the cause for which you gave up a week of your happiness and freedom to solve.

And Tom, you have made a new man of me, and all that I ask and crave for is the chance to assist you in your works. I would willingly remain behind these "sombrous walls" for the rest of my life for this chance. I know and feel that I can do good here, for there are a good many in here that knows me by reputation; and if I could only get them under my thumb and show them that it does not pay to be a gangist or a crook, or a tough in or out of prison. As I told you to-day, I have no self-motive for asking this request; for if successful I know and feel that the reward which awaits you in the hereafter mayhap awaits me also; and I am willing to sacrifice my freedom and my all in order to gain the opportunity of once more meeting face to face and embracing my good, dear mother whom I know is now in Heaven awaiting and praying for me.

To-morrow, Monday, Oct. 6, I shall request one of the boys in the basket-shop to draw up a resolution pledging our loyalty to your cause; and I shall ask only those who are sincere to sign it. After this has been done I am going to ask our Warden for permission to start a Tom Brown League; its members to be men who have never been punished. Tom, I hope that you and your fellow-commissioners as well as Supt. Riley and Warden Rattigan will approve of this, for I am sure that such a League will bring forth good results. I have associated so many years among the class of men in this prison that I believe them to be part of my very being; and that is why I have so much confidence in the success of a Tom Brown League.

Trusting that God and his blessed Son shall watch over you and yours, and that he may spare and give you and your co-workers strength to carry out your plans, is the sincere wish of one of your boys.

I am sincerely and always will be,

JACK MURPHY, No. 32177.

With some difficulty I persuaded my loyal partner to forego the name of Tom Brown in connection with the League. Before my departure for Europe, just a month after the day of my release, Jack was able to report a very satisfactory interview with Superintendent Riley, who had granted permission to start the League. Warden Rattigan's approval had been already secured.

During my six weeks' absence there was much talk on the subject, so far as it was possible for the prisoners to talk; and many kites passed back and forth among those most interested.

After my return events moved quickly, and on December 26 a free election was held in the different shops of the prison, to choose a committee of forty-nine to determine the exact nature and organization of the League, the general idea of which had been unanimously approved by show of hands at the conclusion of the chapel services on the Sunday previous.

Much interest was taken in the election, and there were some very close contests.

Three days after the election the members of the committee of forty-nine were brought to the chapel, and the meeting called to order by the Warden.

By unanimous vote Thomas Brown, No. 33,333x, was made chairman; and then the Warden and the keepers retired. For the first time in the history of Auburn Prison a body of convicts were permitted a full and free discussion of their own affairs. The discussion was not only free but most interesting, as the committee contained men of all kinds, sentenced for all sorts of offenses--first, second and third termers.

This is not the place to go into details concerning the Mutual Welfare League of Auburn Prison; that is another story. It is enough to say that the by-laws of the League were carefully formulated by a subcommittee of twelve; and after full discussion in the committee of forty-nine were reported by that committee to the whole body of prisoners on January 11 and unanimously adopted. On February 12 the first meeting of the League was held.

Let me try to describe it.

It is the afternoon of Lincoln's Birthday. Once again I am standing on the stage of the assembly room of Auburn Prison, but how different is the scene before me. Busy and willing hands have transformed the dreary old place. The stage has been made into a real stage--properly boxed and curtained; the posts through the room are wreathed with colored papers; trophies and shields fill the wall spaces; the front of the gallery is gaily decorated. Everywhere are green and white, the colors of the League, symbolic of hope and truth. Painted on the curtain is a large shield with the monogram of the League and its motto, suggested by one of the prisoners, "Do good. Make good." At the back of the stage over the national flag a portrait of Lincoln smiles upon this celebration of a new emancipation.

At about quarter past two the tramp of men is heard and up the stairs and through the door come marching nearly 1,400 men (for all but seventeen of the prisoners have joined the League). Each man stands proudly erect and on his breast appears the green and white button of the League, sign and symbol of a new order of things. At the side of the companies march the assistant sergeants-at-arms and the members of the Board of Delegates--the governing body of the League; and on the coat of each is displayed a small green and white shield--his badge of authority.

No such perfect discipline has ever been seen before in Auburn Prison, and yet there is not a guard or keeper present except the new P. K. or Deputy Warden, who in an unofficial capacity stands near the door, watching to see how this miracle is being worked. In the usual place of the P. K.

stands one of the prisoners, the newly-elected Sergeant-at-Arms, whose keen eye and forceful, quiet manner stamp him as a real leader of men.

In perfect order company after company marches in, and as soon as seated the men join in the general buzz of conversation, like any other human beings assembled for an entertainment. There is no disorder, nothing but natural life and animation.

I look out over the audience--and my mind turns back to the day before I entered prison, when I spoke to the men from this stage. What is it that has happened? What transformation has taken place? It suddenly occurs to me that this audience is no longer gray; why did I ever think it so? "Gray and faded and prematurely old," I had written of that rigid audience--each man sitting dull and silent under the eye of his watchful keeper, staring straight ahead, not daring to turn his head or to whisper.

Now there are no keepers, and each man is sitting easily and naturally, laughing and chatting with his neighbor. There is color in the faces and life in the eyes. I had never noticed before the large number of fine-looking young men. I can hardly believe it is the same gray audience I spoke to less than five short months ago. What does it all mean?

For this first meeting, the Executive Committee of the League has planned a violin and piano recital. For two hours the men listen attentively and with many manifestations of pleasure to good music by various composers varying from Bach and Beethoven to Sullivan and Johann Strauss.

Between the first and second parts of the programme, we have an encouraging report from the Secretary of the League, none other than our friend Richards, whose cynical pessimism of last July has been replaced by an almost flamboyant optimism as he toils night and day in the service of the League. We have also speeches of congratulation and good cheer from two other members of the Commission on Prison Reform, who have come from a distance to greet this dawn of the new era.

Then after the applause for the last musical number has died away, the long line of march begins again. In perfect order and without a whisper after they have fallen into line, the 1,400 men march back and shut themselves into their cells. One of the prison keepers who stands by, watching this wonderful exhibition of discipline, exclaims in profane amazement, "Why in Hell can't they do that for us?"

Why indeed?

The men have been back in their cells about an hour when an unexpected test is made of their loyalty and self-restraint. As I am about to leave the prison and stand chatting with Richards at his desk in the back office, the electric lights begin to flicker and die down.

Richards and I have just been talking of the great success of the League's first meeting and the good conduct of the men. "Now you will have the other side of it," says Richards. "Listen and you will hear the shouts and disorder that always come when the lights go out."

Dimmer and dimmer grow the lights, while Richards and I listen intently at the window in the great iron door which opens onto the gallery of the north wing.

Not a sound.

The lights go entirely out, and still not a sound. Not even a cough comes from the cells to disturb the perfect silence.

We remain about half a minute in the dark, listening at the door. Then the lights begin to show color, waver, grow lighter, go out altogether for a second, and then burn with a steady brightness.

I look at Richards. He is paler than usual, but there is a bright gleam in his eyes. "I would not have believed it possible," he says impressively, "such a thing has never happened in this prison before. The men always yell when the lights go out. In all my experience I have never known anything equal to that. I don't understand it.

"If anyone had told me the League could do such a thing," he continues, "I would have laughed at them. Yet there it is. I have no further doubts now about our success."

As I leave the prison again, there ring in my ears the questions: What has happened? What does it all mean?

It means just one thing--my friend--for it is you now, you individually, to whom I am speaking; it means that these prisoners are men--real men--your brethren--and mine.

It means that as they are men they should be treated like men.

It means that if you treat them like beasts it will be hard for them to keep from degenerating into beasts. If you treat them like men you can help them to rise.

It means that if you trust them they will show themselves worthy of trust.

It means that if you place responsibility upon them they will rise to it.

Perhaps some may think that I am leaving out of consideration the direct religious appeal that can be made to the prisoners. By no means. I have no intention of underrating the religious appeal. Under the old depressing conditions it is about the only appeal that can be made. But the religious appeal, to be really effective, must be based upon a treatment of the prisoner somewhat in accordance with the precepts of religion. Preaching a religion of brotherly love to convicts while you are treating them upon a basis of diabolical hatred is a discouraging performance.

Give the prisoner fair treatment; discard your System based upon revenge; build up a new System based upon a temporary exile of the offender from Society until he can show himself worthy to be granted a new opportunity; and then give him a chance to build up his character while in retirement by free exercise of the faculties necessary for wise discrimination and right choice of action. Then your religious appeal to the prisoner will not be flagrantly contradicted by every sight and sound about him.

In one of the prisons in a neighboring state, I saw hanging up in the bare, unsightly room they called a chapel, a large illuminated text: Love One Another.

It seemed to me I had never before encountered such terrible, bitter, humiliating sarcasm.

At first sight it seems almost a miracle--the change that is being wrought under Superintendent Riley and Warden Rattigan in Auburn Prison. But in truth there is nothing really extraordinary about it--it is no miracle; unless it be a miracle to discard error and to replace it by truth. The results of a practical application of faith and hope and love often seem miraculous, but as a matter of fact such results are as logical as any geometrical demonstration.

When a man, treated like a beast, snarls and bites you say, "This is the conduct of an abnormal creature--a criminal." When a prisoner, treated like a man, nobly responds you cry, "A miracle!"

What folly! Both these things are as natural as two and two making four.

The real miracle is when men who have been treated for many years like beasts persist in retaining their manhood.

A prisoner is kept for half a generation in conditions so terrible and degrading that the real wonder is how he has kept his sanity, and then he asks only for a chance to show where Society has made a mistake, begs only for an opportunity to be of service to his brethren.

Donald Lowrie and Ed Morrell, laying aside their own wrongs and making light of their own sufferings, as they arouse not only the state of California but the whole nation to a sense of responsibility for the shocking conditions in our prisons; Jack Murphy, turning his back upon the chance of a pardon, asking nothing for himself, seeking only how he can do the most good to his fellow-prisoners; these are the real miracles; when the spirit of God thus works in the hearts of men.