Patrolmen.

Attached to the Station House, and connected with it by a bridge, is the
prison, a brick building three stories in height. It is entered through
the Patrolmen's sitting-room, and is the largest in any city station
house. It contains fifty-two cells, all of which are of a good size and
are well ventilated. Four of these (Nos. 1, 16, 17, 32) are somewhat
larger than the others, and are humorously called by the force "Bridal
chambers." They are reserved for the more respectable prisoners. Over
the prison are two large rooms designed for the unfortunates who seek a
night's shelter at the station--one for men and the other for women.
They are provided with board platforms to sleep on. These platforms can
be removed, and the whole place drenched with water from hydrants
conveniently located.

As a matter of course, this model station is in charge of one of the most
efficient, experienced, and reliable officers of the force. It is at
present commanded by Captain A. J. Allaire, whose personal and official
record fairly entitles him to the high and honorable position he holds in
the force.

The station houses are kept scrupulously clean. Neatness is required in
every department of the police service. The Inspector may enter them at
any hour, and he is almost sure to find them in perfect order.

[Picture: A WINTER NIGHT SCENE IN A POLICE STATION]

These stations afford a temporary shelter to the outdoor poor. In all of
them accommodations are provided for giving a night's lodging to the poor
wretches who seek it. When the snow lies white over the ground, or the
frosts have driven them out of the streets, these poor creatures come in
crowds to the station houses, and beg for a shelter for the night. You
may see them huddling eagerly around the stove, spreading their thin
hands to catch the warmth, or holding some half-frozen child to be thawed
by the heat, silent, submissive, and grateful, yet even half afraid that
the kind-hearted Sergeant, who tries to hide his sympathy for them by a
show of gruffness, will turn them into the freezing streets again. When
the rooms devoted to their use are all filled, others still come,
begging, ah, so piteously, to be taken in for the night. I think there
is no part of the Sergeant's duties so hard, so painful to him, as to be
forced to turn a deaf ear to these appeals. Let us thank God, however,
he does not do so often, and even at the risk of being "ov