The following lines, written not long after this melancholy event, bear witness to my grateful and tender remembrance of him:-- VIA FELICE 'Twas in the Via Felice My friend his dwelling made, The Roman Via Felice, Half sunshine, half in shade. But I lodged near the convent Whose bells did hallow noon, And all the lesser hours, With sweet recurrent tune. They lent their solemn cadence To all the thoughtless day; The heart, so oft it heard them, Was lifted up to pray. And where the lamp was lighted At twilight, on the wall, Serenely sat Madonna, And smiled to bless us all. I see him from the window That ne'er my heart forgets; He buys from yonder maiden My morning violets. Not ill he chose these flowers With mild, reproving eyes, Emblems of tender chiding, And love divinely wise. For his were generous learning And reconciling art; Oh, not with fleeting presence My friend and I could part. * * * * * Oh, not where he is lying With dear ancestral dust, Not where his household traces Grow sad and dim with rust; But in the ancient city And from the quaint old door, I'm watching, at my window, His coming evermore. For Death's eternal city Has yet some happy street; 'Tis in the Via Felice My friend and I shall meet. Adolph Mailliard, the husband of my youngest sister, had been an intimate friend of Joseph Bonaparte, Prince of Musignano. My sister was in consequence invited more than once to the Bonaparte palace. The father of the family was Prince Charles Bonaparte, who married his cousin, Princess Zénaïde. She had passed some years at the Bonaparte villa in Bordentown, N. J., the American residence of her father, Joseph Bonaparte, ex-king of Spain. This princess, who was _tant soit peu gourmande_ said one day to my sister, "What good things they have for breakfast in America! I still remember those hot cakes." The conversation was reported to me, and I managed, with the assistance of the helper brought from home, to send the princess a very excellent bannock of Indian meal, of which she afterwards said, "It was so good that we ate what was left of it on the second day." This reminds me of a familiar couplet:-- "And what they could not eat that night The queen next morning fried."