thralling one, and inclines one to believe in heredity, for it is told with all that artless art of which the son, in after years, became such a master.
Our readers may think that we are as unconscionably tedious in getting our hero born, as Charles II. could possibly have been in accomplishing the opposite process; and we will therefore hasten to quote the following historic document—a letter written by General Dumas to his brother General, Brune:—
"I am glad to tell you that wife gave yesterday morning to a fine boy, who weighs nine pounds, and is eighteen inches long. You can guess that if he continues to grow in the outer world in the same proportion as he has done in the inner, he promises to be a good size!"
But a sad, brief fatherhood was in store for the proud parent. The effects of his two years' struggle in a Neapolitan prison, against poison and persecution, began to show themselves in the soldier's constitution. He took a journey to Paris to consult a specialist, and learning his fate, set to work to secure the good-will of his comrades there on behalf of the future widow. The little three-year-old went too, rode cock-horse with the sword of Marshal Brude, whilst wearing the hat of Murat, King of Naples. At last even the boy became conscious
