"Mon Cher Enfant,—Encore un an de plus que je t'aime, encore un an de moins à t'aimer.
"Voilà le côté triste.
"Mais en attendant, sans calculer ce qui nous en reste, aimons nous tant que nous pourrons.—1er Janvier.—À toi,
We have been led away by seductive paths into a tardy recognition of one of the great facts about our author—his energy. Henley tells us that at times he wrote for sixteen or eighteen hours a day; and it is quite credible in the case of a physique so magnificently healthy, and a brain so greedy of work. Yet, until his final decline, the great writer never suffered from this abnormal devotion to the desk, except one way.
"Dumas," says Blaze de Bury, "would never rest except when fatigued; consequently a curious phenomenon came upon him. Almost every year a fever seized him for two or three days; he was not simply ill, he was vanquished. Knowing this, he went to bed, and dozed there; from time to time he opened his eyes, and hastily taking up the glass of lemonade which the occasion required, he drank it, and then lay back with his face to the wall, and gave himself up to his fever. This was his violent manner of taking rest. The crisis lasted about three days, at the end of which Dumas arose and
