On the right bank of the Loire, close to one of the stations of the rail-road from Orleans to Nantes, which transports the traveler in a few hours from the centre of civilised France to the heart of Brittany, and all its wild traditions and druidical mysteries, stands an ancient and time-honored town—important in the history both of France and England, during a series of centuries—a town beloved of Anne of Brittany and of Mary Stuart, the scene of stirring and romantic adventures without number, all of which have paled before the interest it has excited of late years as the place of captivity of a great chief, and, within a few weeks, as forming a rich part of that spoil which the immense possessions of the house of Orleans is likely to furnish to the present ruler of the French nation. Tourists on the Loire know the charming town of Amboise very well; and none ever missed, in days of yore, visiting its fine castle, whose high walls are bathed by the noble river. This pleasure has, however, long been denied them, for the captive whose misfortunes have excited so much sympathy throughout Europe, and whose “hope deferred” is still destined to “make his heart sick,” the ill-fated Abd-’el-Kader, with his followers, are still detained there, and likely so to be, in spite of the “_I would if I could_” of his supposed struggling friend, the nephew of another great prisoner of days gone by. Amboise, a few years since, was a smiling, lively little town, and the castle was a pleasure-residence of the last king; the gardens were delicious, the little chapel of St. Hubert a gem, restored in all its lustre, and the glory of artists and amateurs. All is now changed: a gloom has fallen on the scene, the flowers are faded, the gates are closed, the pretty pavilions are shut up; there are guards instead of gardeners, and a dreary prison frowns over the reflecting waters, which glide mournfully past its towers. If you pause awhile on the bridge of Amboise, and look up to the windows of the castle, you may, perhaps, see one or other of the captives seated sadly and motionlessly, or it may be slowly pacing along a high gallery which runs from tower to tower, but it is rare at present that the dispirited inhabitants of those dismal chambers have energy to seek even such recreation as this, and the traveler may drive through Amboise twenty times, without having his curiosity to see Lord Londonderry’s _protégé_ gratified. The writer of these pages happened to be in the neighborhood when Abd-’el-Kader was transferred from Pau, the birth-place of Henri Quatre, in the Pyrenees, to this once gay château on the Loire, and was amongst those who witnessed the arrival of the party.