udience--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friend Richards, whose cynical pessimism of last July has been replaced by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 Ric