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than to mind one's own. For the benefit of the readers I shall explain why the boys at Lancaster do not get any milk. First of all, the cows are not as good milkers as they should be; second, because half of the cows are dry half of the time; and third, because there has never been sufficient funds. on hand with which to organize a dairy along modern lines. Seldom more than twelve cows are milked, and these supply milk for the forty-two guards and employees and for the families of the warden and the deputy warden. In order to go around, it becomes necessary to measure the milk and cream most carefully. Frequently the officers drink their coffee without cream for there is not enough. I know from experience that at my table there was never any cream and I had to use water on my breakfast food and drink black coffee. "But why in the world don't you feed lots of eggs to the boys?" said one of these good women to me one day. "Well Madam, I wish you or I



could lay some for the boys, for the chickens won't," I told her. It is strange but true that when the prison had only nine hens the boys would bring in on an average of seven eggs a day, but when we had over one hundred hens the average was about seventeen. There must be something wrong somewhere. The Asylum for the Insane at Lincoln has a large and well kept poultry plant, and its manager, Colonel Middleton knows the business from start to finish, and the big institution has chickens and eggs to spare. The penitentiary has just as good facilities and could just as well have such a plant and do away with buying large quantities of eggs, as well as produce the chickens served to the inmates on holidays. This branch would find employment for several men, as would a dairy plant. There is also a chance to install a hosiery plant at the prison. Such a one could be started with a few machines and at a cost of less than five hundred dollars. It could manufacture all the hosiery used in


the prison as well as that used in other state institutions. Employment could be found for a few men by installing a little printery, for the prison uses printed blanks in large quantities: and thus gradually and in various ways the prisoners could be placed in such work that would in no way interfere with labor on the outside. If any of the above should not meet with success we have the public roads, sadly in need of improvement, to fall back upon.



A hell on earth, a living tomb, exists within these prison walls. It is located in the rear of the hospital and is commonly known as the "hole." It consists of six small cells, all of which are dark, save for a small opening about the size of a man's hand up under the ceiling. There is no furniture in the hole, not even a bed, and the occupant sleeps upon the stone floor. He who enters here leaves all hope behind and finds only sorrow, misery and despair. The illustration on the back cover shows a prisoner strung up in the hole. It matters not what physical condition he is in, nor that nature demands it, he cannot move away from there, and even if he could, there is no toilet within his reach. It is almost unbelievable that such conditions exist in the twentieth century. There was but very little use made of the "hole" during the humane Warden Beemer's administra-