“Oh, strangers have only got to ask, they find their ways wherever they wish to go, and get along well enough.” We “got along,” and one bright morning found our way to the university, a fine old, red-brick building, standing back far away from the shady street, in a quadrangle surrounded by tall red-brick houses, with rows of trees planted before and blooming gardens behind them; a few marauding geese are gobbling on the green, but there are no other signs of life, not even a stray dog in the inclosure, the wide quadrangle is empty of humanity; a soft breeze stirs the tall tree tops, rustling the leaves with a whispering sound, as though they had brought a message from some far-off lands. A cloistered stillness is about the place which is almost oppressive as we wander to and fro, looking up at the tall closed houses and pondering on the special history we know of some of them. We cannot gain admission to the college, as the doors are barred and we see no one to whom we could address an inquiry, so we turn away, and with echoless footsteps pass over the green sward out into the public high-road. The next morning we drive out, in a rather rickety, shandrydan vehicle, over the broad sandy roads, past a pretty little valley or wild wooded basin, so called a “park,” to the penitentiary or State prison. We are received by a dignified-looking gentleman, the governor, and by him handed over to the military guard, who conducts us through the different wards. No idling here--shoemakers, carpenters, blacksmiths, all hard at work, amidst profound silence so far as the human voice is concerned, for prisoners are not permitted to speak, even in answer to the visitors’ remarks addressed to them. The majority of both sexes are coloured, there is but a mere sprinkling of white convicts. Some Boston tourists, who have joined our party, sigh as they observe this. “Evidently the white man’s offences are condoned, while the poor negro is invariably convicted,” they say, shaking their heads deploringly. A good-natured, cheery-looking matron takes us through the women’s quarters, where all are busily engaged at sewing, stitching, or machine work; here, too, strict silence is preserved, they make their requirements known by dumb show; most of them keep their heads bent downwards as we enter, but one or two look up, and a smile, like a gleam of sunshine, breaks over their clouded faces, their eyes speak though their lips are mute, as they recognise their matron’s kindly face,--no need of words to tell of her popularity, for grateful glances follow her wherever she goes, even the brush of her skirts as she passes seems to do them good; she gives an encouraging pat here, a smile or kindly word there, and who knows but the seed one kind heart scatters among their barren lives may take root and help them to bear something better than prison fruit in the future. She passes on, doing a true Christian’s duty in smoothing the way of the