tragic; while the tragedy lies
beyond the realm of tears--in the gray twilight region of a suffering too
deep for speech, where sympathy seems helpless.

* * * * *

As I now sit writing in my cell, from out the darkness, loneliness, and
stillness about me comes the sweet voice of a violin. Someone is playing
the melody of Mendelssohn's Spring Song, and playing well. I wonder if he
knows that I am near him, and is trying to send me his message of good
will. One peculiarity of this place is that sounds reach the heavily
recessed door of a cell mainly by reflection from the outer wall, and my
ear is not sufficiently trained to know from what direction the sounds
come. The invisible violinist, wherever he is, has an unusually good tone
and plays with genuine feeling. Unfortunately he has not played many bars
before more instruments join in--jewsharps, harmonicas, and other things.
It is an extraordinary jumble of sounds--a wild pandemonium after the
deadly quiet of a few moments ago. A train blowing off steam at the New
York Central station, immediately opposite our front windows, is also
contributing its quota of noise.

The gallery boy has just passed along, filled my tin cup with water for
the night, and exchanged a few words. He says that for twenty minutes each
evening, from six-forty to seven, each man may "do what he likes" in his
cell. A cornet is the latest addition to the noise. The whole episode
impresses me as being such a mingling of the pathetic and the humorous
that I don't know whether to laugh or cry. Consider the conditions which
make twenty minutes of such a performance a boon to man!

The gallery boy evinces a desire to strike up friendly relations; he
brings me a box of matches in case I want to smoke, and offers to do
anything for me he can. I am not a smoker, but I don't like to decline his
good offices; so I stow away the matches for future reference.

* * * * *

Let me resume the thread of my story.

The officer takes me from the Doctor's office to the room where the
Bertillon measurements are taken. Here there is a fifth set of questions
to answer. I have not the slightest possible objection to giving all the
statistics the state officials want; my time is theirs, and there is no
possible hurry. I may as well get rid of a few hours, more or less, of my
"bit" in this way as in any other; so I shall not register any kick even
if I a