ncapable of judgment. They are
subjected to a strict, but not cruel discipline, in this prison. It is
very healthy, and all its appointments are such as to facilitate the
education of the morals and intellect of the inmates. It is well
supplied with water and wholesome diet, and books and religious
teachers. It is divided into separate departments, and one grade of boys
is never allowed intercourse with another. This is a very wise
regulation, as under it a fresh, ignorant, and wicked inmate cannot have
influence over those who have long been under the discipline of the
place.

The Conciergerie is used to confine persons before trial, and it is one
of the most famous (or infamous) prisons in the world. Its historical
associations are full of interest. Its entrance is on the Quai de
l'Horloge. In visiting this prison, the stranger from the new world is
struck with the terrible outlines of some of the apartments. The Salle
des Gardes of St. Louis, has a roof which strikes terror into the heart,
it is so old and grim. In one part of the building there is a low
prison-room, where those persons condemned to death spend their last
hours, fastened down to a straight waistcot. The little room in which
Marie Antoinette was confined, is still shown to the visitor. There are
now three paintings in it which represent scenes in the last days of her
life. The prison-room which confined Lourel, who stabbed the duke de
Barry, and the dungeons in which Elizabeth, the sister of Louis XVI.,
was imprisoned, are shut up and cannot be seen. There are many
histories connected with this old prison, which to repeat, would fill
this volume.

The Prison de l'Abbaye is a military prison, and is situated close to
St. Germain des Pres. It was formerly one of the most famous in Paris,
and the horrors which it witnessed during the bloody revolution were
never surpassed in any city of the world. Many of the atrocities which
were committed in it are now widely known through the histories of those
times of blood. Many of its dungeons are still under ground, and wear an
aspect of gloom sufficient to terrify a man who spends but a few moments
in them. The discipline of this prison is very rigid, as it contains
only military offenders.

The prison for debtors is in Rue de Clichy, and is in an airy situation,
is well constructed, and holds three or four hundred persons. The
officers of this prison still remember the modest-faced American editor,
who spen