see him to ascertain his real situation, the condition of his health, and whether he was in want of anything. He said there would be no objection to that, and he immediately went with me in person to the Prefecture of Police, and upon his application I received from the Prefect a permission to visit the Archbishop freely at any time. In company with my private secretary, Mr. McKean, I then went to the Mazas prison, where I was admitted without difficulty, and being ushered into one of the vacant cells, the Archbishop was very soon brought in. I must say I was deeply touched at the appearance of this venerable man. With his slender person, his form somewhat bent, his long beard—for he has not been shaved apparently since his imprisonment—his face haggard with ill-health, all could not have failed to have moved the most indifferent. I told him that I had taken great pleasure, at the instance of his friends, in intervening on his behalf, and while I could not promise myself the satisfaction of seeing him released, I was very glad to be able to visit him to ascertain his wants, and to assuage the cruel position in which he found himself. He thanked me most heartily and cordially for the disposition I had manifested towards him. I was charmed by his cheerful spirit and his interesting conversation. He seemed to appreciate his critical situation, and to be prepared for the worst. He had no word of bitterness or reproach for his persecutors, but on the other hand remarked that the world judged them to be worse than they really were. He was patiently waiting the logic of events, and praying that Providence might find a solution to these terrible troubles without the further shedding of human blood. He is confined in a cell about six feet by ten, possibly a little larger, which has the ordinary furniture of the Mazas prison—a wooden chair, a small wooden table, and a prison bed. The cell is lighted by one small window. As a political prisoner, he
