Kansas has learned some dear lessons, and she will be wise indeed when she learns that only Prohibitionists will enforce prohibition laws.  That republicans and democrats are traitors, and no one belonging to these parties should ever hold office, especially in Kansas.

At 6:30 P. M., I was tried and taken to Wichita jail; found guilty of malicious mischief, Sam Amidon being the prosecuting attorney, and the friend of every joint keeper in the city.  He called me a “spotter” when I wanted to give evidence against the jointists.

The legislature was to convene in a few days and it was understood that the question of resubmitting the Prohibition Amendment would come up.  Being a part of the constitution, the people had to vote on it, and it was frustrating their plans to have such agitation at this time, and these republican leaders were determined to make a quietus of me, if possible.  The scheme was to get me in an insane asylum, and they wished to increase my insanity as they called my zeal, so as to have me out of their way, for I was calling too much attention to their lawlessness, at this time, when it might prove disastrous to their plots.  Two sheriffs conducted me to my cell.  The sensation of being locked in such a place for the first time is not like any other, and never occurs the second time.  These men watched me after the door was locked.  I tried to be brave, but the tears were running down my face.  I took hold of the iron bars of my door, and tried to shake them and said:  “Never mind, you put me in here a cub, but I will go out a roaring lion and I will make all hell howl.”  I wanted to let them know that I was going to grow while in there.

Three days after, on the 30th, there was brought in and put next to my cell an old man, named Isaiah Cooper, a lunatic, who raved, cursed and tore his clothes and bedding.  He was brought from the poor farm where he was waiting to be sent to the insane asylum.  There were some cigarette, smokers in the jail and the fumes came in my cell, for I had nothing but an open barred door.  I begged that I might not be compelled to smell this poison, but, instead of diminishing, the smoke increased.  Two prisoners from across the rotunda were brought next to my cell.

What an outrage, to tax the citizens of Sedgwick County to build such a jail as that in Wichita.  It holds one hundred and sixty prisoners.  There were thirteen there when I was put in.  I have been in many jails, but in none did I ever see a rotary, except in Wichita, a large iron cage, with one door, the little cells the shape of a piece of pie.  Perhaps there were a dozen in this one.  The cage rotated within a cylinder.  This was for the worst criminals, and the cells were only large enough for a small cot, a chair and a table about a foot square.

{illust. caption = just before I left Wichita jail A photographer came to my cell and asked to take my picture.  Here it is in the position of kneeling, reading my bible, which was my usual attitude.}