ed with age--

"GOD _willing, he will be a credit to the town._"

"GOD _willing, he will be a credit to his country._"

"_He shall have a liberal education, and will be
a great man._"

"It is as good as a poem," said the delighted Duke. "I shall tell the
company to-night that I am the most fortunate man in Germany. I have
heard your unpublished poem. By the bye, Poet, is that ballad
published?"

"No, and never will be. It shall never know less kindly criticism than
it received then."

"And are you really in earnest? Was this indeed the happiest triumph
your talents have ever earned?"

"It was," said Friedrich. "The first blast on the trumpet of Fame is
the sweetest. Afterwards, we find it out of tune."

"Your parents are dead, I think?"

"They are, and so is my youngest sister."

"And what of Marie?"

"She married--a man who, I think, is in no way worthy of her. Not a
bad, but a stupid man, with strong Bible convictions on the subject of
marital authority. She is such an angel in his house as he can never
understand in this world."

"Do you ever see her?"

"Sometimes, when I want a rest. I went to see her not long ago, and
found her just the same as ever. I sat at her feet, and laid my head
in her lap, and tried to be a child again. I bade her tell me the
history of Bluebeard, and strove to forget that I had ever lost the
childish simplicity which she has kept so well;--and I almost
succeeded. I had forgotten that the great poet was jealous of my
'Captive Queen,' and told myself it would be a grand thing to be like
him. I thought I should like to see a live Emperor. But just when the
delusion was perfect, there was a row in the street. The people had
found me out, and I must show myself at the window. The spell was
broken. I have not tried it again."

They were on the steps of the palace.

"Your story has entertained and touched me beyond measure," said the
Duke. "But something is wanting. It does not (as they say) 'end
well.' I fear you are not happy."

"I am content," said Friedrich. "Yes, I am happy. I never could be a
child again, even if it pleased GOD to restore to me the
circumstances of my childhood. It is best as it is, but I have learnt
the truth of what Marie told me. It is the good, and not the great
things of my life that bring me peace; or rather, neither one nor the
other, but the undeserved mercies of my GOD!"

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