Fortress of Ham, September 19th, 1845.—My Dear Father: The first real joy I have felt in five years I experienced in receiving the friendly letter you were so kind as to write me. M. Poggioli succeeded in reaching me, and I was, at last, able to talk with someone who is entirely devoted to us and who saw you not long ago. How happy I am to know that you always retain your tenderness for me!... I am of your opinion, my father, the older I grow, the more I perceive the void around me, and the more convinced I am that the only happiness in this world consists in the reciprocal affection of beings created to love each other. What has touched me, affected me most, is the desire you manifest to see me again. To me this desire is a command, and henceforward I will do all in my power in order to render possible this meeting which I thank you for desiring. Even the day before yesterday I had determined to make no effort to leave my prison. For where should I go? What should I do, alone again in foreign lands, far from my own people? A grave in one’s native land is better. But to-day a new hope lights up my horizon, a new aim presents itself to my endeavors; it is to go and surround you with attentions and prove to you that if for the last fifteen years many things have come between our hearts, nothing has been able to uproot filial piety, the first foundation of all virtues; I have suffered much. Sufferings have destroyed my illusions and have dispelled my dreams; but happily they have not weakened the faculties of the soul, those faculties which permit one to comprehend and love all that is good. King Louis’ application for his son’s release having proved fruitless, the Prince resolved to make a personal appeal to the French Government. [Illustration: With Bob Taylor] SENTIMENT AND STORY There was once a civilization in the beautiful land of the South more brilliant than any that ever flourished in all the tide of time. About its ruins there clings a pathetic story of vanished dreams made holier and sweeter by lips that are dust and hearts that are stilled forever. There is nothing left of that civilization now but the memory of its departed glory lingering among its tombstones and monuments like the fragrance of roses that are faded and gone. It was an imperial civilization, ruled from a throne of living ebony; but like great Caesar, it fell at last, with a hundred gaping wounds, and its bleeding corpse dissolved into ashes long ago on the funeral pile of war. I would not recall those bloody wounds nor wake the hatreds of Civil War, but rather let me lift the curtain and give you a glimpse of the glory and the grave of that civilization.