he centre and summit of Berlin society; and restricted
herself wisely to private matters. She has her domesticities, family
affections, readings, speculations; gives evening parties at Monbijou.
One glimpse of her in 1742 we get, that of a perfectly private royal
Lady; which though it has little meaning, yet as it is authentic, coming
from Busching's hand, may serve as one little twinkle in that total
darkness, and shall be left to the reader and his fancy:--

A Count Henkel, a Thuringian gentleman, of high speculation, high
pietistic ways, extremely devout, and given even to writing of religion,
came to Berlin about some Silesian properties,--a man I should think of
lofty melancholic aspect; and, in severe type, somewhat of a lion, on
account of his Book called "DEATH-BED SCENES, in four Volumes." Came
to Berlin; and on the 15th August, 1742, towards evening (as the
ever-punctual Busching looking into Henkel's Papers gives it), "was
presented to the Queen Mother; who retained him to supper; supper
not beginning till about ten o'clock. The Queen Mother was extremely
gracious to Henkel; but investigated him a good deal, and put a great
many questions," not quite easy to answer in that circle, "as, Why he
did not play? What he thought of comedies and operas? What Preachers
he was acquainted with in Berlin? Whether he too was a Writer of
Books? [covertly alluding to the DEATH-BED SCENES, notes Busching].
And abundance of other questioning. She also recounted many fantastic
anecdotes (VIEL ABENTEUERLICHES) about Count von Zinzendorf [Founder of
HERNNHUTH, far-shining spiritual Paladin of that day, whom her Majesty
thinks rather a spiritual Quixote]; and declared that they were strictly
true." [Busching's _Beitrage,_ iv. 27.]' Upon which, EXIT Henkel, borne
by Busching, and our light is snuffed out.

This is one momentary glance I have met with of Queen Sophie in her
Dowager state. The rest, though there were seventeen years of it in all,
is silent to mankind and me; and only her death, and her Son's great
grief about it, so great as to be surprising, is mentioned in the Books.

Actual painful sorrow about his Father, much more any new outburst of
weeping and lamenting, is not on record, after that first morning.
Time does its work; and in such a whirl of occupations, sooner than
elsewhere: and the loved Dead lie silent in their mausoleum in our
hearts,--serenely sad as Eternity, not in loud sorrow as of Time.
Friedrich wa