Upon uneasy pallets stretching them.'
"I have visited alike the perfumed chambers of the great and the poor abodes of the lowly, the institutions of science, literature, and the arts, the resorts of fashion, of folly, and of vice, and in all I have found something which not merely served to fill up the passing hour, but that furnished either substantial additions of knowledge or agreeable subjects of future meditation and discourse. Human nature, as modified by the different circumstances of life and fortune, presents an ample and diversified volume to her student in Paris: and in this bustling and glittering panorama, where everything seems most artificial, one who looks beneath the surface may learn much of the secret feelings, motives, passions, and genius of man.
"The President's message still continues to be the theme of much conversation. In the saloons of the theatres, in the cafés and restaurants, and on the public promenades I frequently hear the name of General Jackson uttered by tongues that never before were troubled to syllable it, and which do not pronounce it 'trippingly,' according to Hamlet's advice, but twist it into various grotesque sounds. Passing through Ste. Pélagie the other day (a prison for debtors), I overheard one of the inmates of that abode discussing with great vehemence the question of indemnity. He held a newspaper in his hand, and, as I passed, exclaimed, 'La France ne devrait pas payer les vingt-cinq millions!' A fellow-feeling, thought I, makes us wondrous kind. The anecdote of the porter, the soldier, and the debtor, in the 'Citizen of the World,' occurred to my mind.
"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.
"At this season of the year the country of France presents to the American traveller a cheerless appearance. Without forests to variegate the scene with their many-colored garniture, and with rarely even a hedge to define the boundaries of individual property, the country looks somewhat like a wide, uncultivated common or storm-beaten prairie; and in this state of 'naked, unfenced desolation,' even one of those unsightly and zigzag structures which in America mark the limits of contiguous farms would have been an agreeable interruption of the monotony. The neat farm-houses of America, with all their accessories bespeaking prosperity and thrift, are not met with here; but, instead, a bleak, untidy hovel obtrudes itself on your sight, or your eyes, turning from it, rest on a ruined tower or once proud château tumbling into decay.
"I reached Lyons at midnight on the 13th, and spent the following day in visiting the chief objects of interest in the city, among which were the Museum of Antiquities and the Cathedral. My curiosity led me to inspect the silk manufactories of this place; but the pleasure which I should have derived from witnessing the beautiful creations of the loom was wholly counteracted by the squalid and miserable appearance of the poor creatures by whom the glossy fabrics are made,—attenuated, sickly wretches, who waste their being in ineffectual toil, since the scanty pittance which they earn is not enough to sustain life. My thoughts reverted from these oppressed creatures to the slaves of America. The condition of the latter is one of luxury in comparison. Yet they are slaves,—how much is in a name!