walls--to those who were no more. The remembrance of them unnerved
him, and filled his heart with grief. The experiences of life, and
the ingratitude of men, had left many a scar upon this royal heart,
but had never hardened it; it was still overflowing with tender
sympathy and cherished memories. To Lord-Marshal Keith, Marquis
d'Argens, and Voltaire, Frederick owed the happiest years of his
life.

D'Argens, who passionately loved Frederick, had been dead five
years; Lord-Marshal Keith one month; and Voltaire was dying! This
intelligence the king had received that very morning, from his Paris
correspondent, Grimm. It was this that filled his heart with
mourning. The face, that smiled so full of intelligence, was perhaps
distorted with agony, and those beaming eyes were now closing in
death!

Voltaire was dying!

Frederick's thoughts were with the dead and dying--with the past! He
recalled, when crown prince at Rheinsberg, how much he had admired,
loved, and distinguished Voltaire; how he rejoiced, and how honored
he felt, when, as a young king, Voltaire yielded to his request to
live with him at Berlin. This intimacy, it is true, did not long
continue; the king was forced to recognize, with bitter regret, that
the MAN Voltaire was not worthy the love which he bestowed upon the
POET. He renounced the MAN, but the poet was still his admiration;
and all the perfidy, slander and malice of Voltaire, had never
changed Frederick. The remembrance of it had long since faded from
his noble heart--only the memory of the poet, of the author of so
many hours of the purest enjoyment, remained.