Punishment, I say, there must be. Prisoners we shall continue to have; but surely it would be merciful and just, and therefore it would be wise, to give these men some legitimate hope of a little relief from their manhood-slaying monotony. And here I would suggest a radical reform, _i.e._, abolish the ticket-of-leave system; let the judge’s sentence of so long a time be a final one, unless for good reasons the Home Secretary intervenes. Judges are not now vindictive, and probably shorter terms will be the rule. Let the prisoner know that there will be no shortening of his sentence, but let him also know that good behaviour, industry, and courtesy will bring him a reward, and that after a fixed time he will be placed in a higher class. Let him know that better food, better and more abundant literature (not too ‘goody’), some social recreation and some relaxation from dead monotony, will be his reward. Let him know that more interesting work awaits him. Let him know that he shall have a chance of seeing the likeness of his own face, of hearing his own voice, of being fed as a human being, and, my life for it, you shall inspire many a man to hope. Hope takes to herself many virtues, for with hope all things are possible for good, but without that saving grace all things are possible for evil.
Let there be a gradual amelioration and a gradual relaxation of the monotonous conditions in the lives of long-time prisoners, and when they are released they will not present a spectacle like the man of whom I have been telling. For his eyes betrayed him, his high cheek-bones and hollow cheeks betrayed him, his hair on head and face betrayed him, his prison-made clothes betrayed him, but most of all his voice betrayed him. How he talked! There was no stopping; he ran on and on, and though I wanted to tell him much, I had to sit and listen to his queer voice as the words came tumbling over each other. I had never seen him or heard him before in this condition, and did not know what to make of him; but I sat and looked and listened wondering. At length I stopped him and told him he had better have a little breathing-time. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, let me talk! I have had no one to talk to all these years; let me hear my own voice!’ On and on he went till a meal was served, and then my wife sat down with us. Gracious! it was worse than the talking. A knife and fork lay beside his plate, but he took the meat with his fingers. I called his attention to the knife and fork. He looked ashamed, and said: ‘Excuse me; I had forgotten. I haven’t seen any for three years.’ But he cut a poor figure with them.