As I spoke, two grave-looking gentlemen, whom I took to be either doctors or judges, crossed the path before us, and I proposed to make these inquiries of them. Who should they prove to be but William Penn and the omnipresent Benjamin Franklin! “Yes, yes,” said Penn, in reply to our questions shaking his head deprecatingly; “’tis too true; we are obliged to have what Swedenborg calls “our hells,” for you send your criminals from earth so hardened that we are compelled to keep them under guard. Come with us and we’ll show you how we treat them.” We were very glad of this opportune meeting, and followed with alacrity. Presently, leaving the beautiful country far behind us, we came upon a desert waste, and as I am extremely sensitive to conditions, I felt somewhat like a criminal in passing through it. Having got safely over, however, there burst upon our sight a scene of surpassing beauty; as far as the eye could reach extended a most highly-cultivated district of country. Groves of fruit resembling the oranges and pineapples of our tropics, noble trees like the palm, the fig, and date, were to be seen in every quarter, rearing their boughs against the summer sky. The air was laden with fragrance from tree and vine. Great bunches of purple grapes like the fabled fruit of Canaan in the Old Testament, a single bunch of which required two men to bear it, drooped heavily from twining vines, while from many a bough and twig swung golden, crimson, and cream-colored fruit, which fairly made one’s mouth water. It was a picture rich enough in color for a Claude or Turner. “This is delicious,” said I to Penn. “Do tell us to what fairy prince this magnificent land belongs!” “We will show you the fairy prince himself, very soon,” said he. “Do you see the tip of his castle yonder?” I looked, and as we moved swiftly in the direction indicated an unexpected spectacle loomed in sight. It was a building so delicate and perfect in its structure that it appeared like a vision. Pillars and arches, dome and architrave, were wrought in a style exquisitely beautiful; the material of which it was composed seemed like polished sea-shells, so transparent that you could see through it the forms of the inmates. “This,” said William Penn, “is one of our prisons. Let us enter.” We followed in amazement, and were ushered into a hall hung with paintings rich in design and color, while distributed around in various alcoves were cases containing books and articles of curious workmanship, of which I had not yet learned the use. This hall formed the court within the main building. From where we stood we could see hundreds of men in white suits moving about. Some seemed engaged in conversation, others in sportive games, and others in various employments. “You do not mean to tell us that these men are prisoners,” said I.