"By the way, the prison of Ste. Pélagie is a curious establishment. It derives its name from an actress of the city of Antioch, who became a penitent in the fifth century. No other prison in Paris presents so diversified a picture, such a motley group of inmates, so singular an association of rank, country, profession, and age. Barons, marquises, and princes are among the cooped-up denizens of Ste. Pélagie. An Austrian prince, one of these, is shut up here to answer the claims of creditors to the amount of several millions. A café and restaurant are maintained within the prison; and one entering these, were he not reminded of his whereabouts by the gratings of the windows, might easily imagine himself in the Café des Trois Frères of the Palais Royal. "I regret that I was not in America to welcome James Sheridan Knowles to our shores. I should have been glad to take the author of 'Virginius' and 'The Hunchback' by the hand,--ay, and by the heart too; for, from all I hear, any man might be proud of his friendship. But New York had this reception in her own hands, and it, no doubt, was such a one as 'gave him wonder great as his content.' I remember, very vividly, what sort of a reception she gave to a youth 'unknown to fame,' in whom you are kind enough to take an interest,--a youth whose highest ambition was only to strut his hour in those parts which the genius of Knowles has created. Can I, then, doubt that to the dramatist himself her greeting was most cordial? "Adieu! I shall probably meet with Bryant in Rome; and, in conversing with him of past scenes and distant friends, shall almost feel myself, for a time, restored to their society." The description of the first portion of his tour in Italy, in a long letter to Leggett, also seems worthy of preservation, and will have a various interest for the reader even now: "I left Paris on the 11th instant on my projected ramble through Italy. It was not without regret that I at last quitted the gay and brilliant metropolis of France, which I had entered a total stranger but a few months before, but in which I had experienced the most grateful courtesies, and formed friendships with persons whose talents and worth have secured them an abiding place in my esteem. As the towers of Notre Dame and the dome of the Pantheon faded from my sight, I sighed an adieu to the past, and turned with somewhat of apathy, if not reluctance, to the future.