the attentions of his family and the consolations of philosophy and
literature, which he dearly loved to discuss with his friends. His
ruling passion displayed itself shortly before his end in characteristic
fashion. Trying in vain to reach a book on the table, he said: "Can I do
nothing now in time?" On the morning of his death, wishing to be turned
on his bed, he said to his daughter, "Lay me down like a gamut," at
each movement repeating with a soft smile, "Do, re, mi," etc., until the
change was made. These were his last words.

The celebrated French critic Sainte-Beuve pays a charming tribute to
Halévy, whom he knew and loved well:

"Halévy had a natural talent for writing, which he cultivated and
perfected by study, by a taste for reading which he always
gratified in the intervals of labor, in his study, in public
conveyances--everywhere, in fine, when he had a minute to spare. He
could isolate himself completely in the midst of the various noises of
his family, or the conversation of the drawing-room if he had no part in
it. He wrote music, poetry, and prose, and he read with imperturbable
attention while people around him talked.

"He possessed the instinct of languages, was familiar with German,
Italian, English, and Latin, knew something of Hebrew and Greek. He was
conversant with etymology, and had a perfect passion for dictionaries.
It was often difficult for him to find a word; for on opening the
dictionary somewhere near the word for which he was looking, if his eye
chanced to fall on some other, no matter what, he stopped to read that,
then another and another, until he sometimes forgot the word he sought.
It is singular that this estimable man, so fully occupied, should at
times have nourished some secret sadness. Whatever the hidden wound