Seated upon the platform with the prison officials and visitors, I watched my strange auditors as they came in.  There were one thousand of them.  Their faces were a curious study.  Most of them were bad faces.  Beast and devil were printed on them.  Thick necks, heavy back-heads, and low, square foreheads, were the prevalent types.  The least repulsive were those who looked as if they were all animal, creatures of instinct and appetite, good-natured and stupid; the most repulsive were those whose eyes had a gleam of mingled sensuality and ferocity.  But some of these faces that met my gaze were startling—­they seemed so out of place.  One old man with gray hair, pale, sad face, and clear blue eyes, might have passed, in other garb and in other company, for an honored member of the Society of Friends.  He had killed a man in a mountain county.  If he was indeed a murderer at heart, nature had given him the wrong imprint.  My attention was struck by a smooth-faced, handsome young fellow, scarcely of age, who looked as little like a convict as anybody on that platform.  He was in for burglary, and had a very bad record.  Some came in half laughing, as if they thought the whole affair more a joke than anything else.  The Mexicans, of whom there was quite a number, were sullen and scowling.  There is gloom in the Spanish blood.  The irrepressible good nature of several ruddy-faced Irishmen broke out in sly merriment.  As the service began, the discipline of the prison showed itself in the quiet that instantly prevailed; but only a few, who joined in the singing, seemed to feel the slightest interest in it.  Their eyes were wandering, and their faces were vacant.  They had the look of men who had come to be talked at and patronized, and who were used to it.  The prayer that was offered was not calculated to banish such a feeling —­it was dry and cold.  I stood up to begin the sermon.  Never before had I realized so folly that God’s message was to lost men, and for lost men.  A mighty tide of pity rushed in upon my soul as I looked down into the faces of my hearers.  My eyes filled, and my heart melted within me.  I could not speak until after a pause, and only then by great effort.  There was a deep silence, and every face was lifted to mine as I announced the text.  God had touched my heart and theirs at the start.  I read the words slowly:  God hath not appointed us to wrath, but to obtain salvation by our Lord Jesus Christ.  Then I said: 

“My fellow-men, I come to you today with a message from my Father, and your Father in heaven.  It is a message of hope.  God help me to deliver it as I ought!  God help you to hear it as you ought!  I will not insult you by saying that because you have an extra dinner, a few hours respite from your toil, and a little fresh air and sunshine, you ought to have a joyful thanksgiving today.  If I should talk thus, you would be ready to ask me how I would like to change places with you.  You would despise me, and I would despise myself, for indulging