"In the month of August he took walking exercise, but with difficulty; he was forced to stop every minute. In the first years he used to walk while dictating. He walked about his room, and thus did without the exercise which he feared to take out-of-doors, lest he should expose himself to insult. But latterly his strength would not admit even of this. He remained sitting nearly all day, and discontinued almost all occupation. His health declined sensibly every month. "Once in September, and again in the beginning of October he rode out, as his physicians desired him to take exercise; but he was so weak that he was obliged to return in his carriage. He ceased to digest; shivering fits came on, which extended even to the extremities. Hot towels applied to the feet gave him some relief. He suffered from these cold fits to the last hour of his life. As he could no longer either walk or ride, he took several drives in an open carriage at a foot pace, but without gaining strength. "He never took off his dressing-gown. His stomach rejected food, and at the end of the year he was forced to give up meat. He lived upon jellies and soups. For some time he ate scarcely any thing, and drank only a little pure wine, hoping thus to support nature without fatiguing the digestion; but the vomiting continued, and he returned to soups and jellies. The remedies and tonics which were tried produced little effect. His body grew weaker every day, but his mind retained its strength. He liked reading and conversation. He did not dictate much, although he did so from time to time up to the last days of his life. He felt that his end was approaching, and frequently recited the passage from 'Zaire,' which closes with this line: "'A revoir Paris je ne dois plus pretendre.' "Nevertheless the hope of leaving this dreadful country often presented itself to his imagination. Some newspaper articles and false reports excited our expectations. We sometimes fancied that we were on the eve of starting for America. We read travels, we made plans, we arrived at our house, we wandered over that immense country, where alone we might hope to enjoy liberty. Vain hopes! vain projects! which only made us doubly feel our misfortunes. "They could not have been borne with more serenity and courage--I might almost add gayety. He often said to us in the evening, 'Where shall we go? to the Theatre Francais or to the Opera?' And then he would read a tragedy by Corneille, Voltaire, or Racine; an opera of Quinault's, or one of Moliere's comedies. His strong mind and powerful character were perhaps even more remarkable than on that larger theatre where he eclipsed all that is brightest in ancient and in modern history. He often seemed to forget what he had been. I was never tired of admiring his philosophy and courage, the good sense and fortitude which raised him above misfortune.